Punked
by xXxMusicSavedMyLifeXxX
Summary: John Watson is the new student at school. He doesn't follow the rules and does what he wants. He's the nightmare of all bullies and scary as hell...And he's also Sherlock's...crush?
1. Chapter 1

_Why were piercings even allowed in school_? Sherlock thought to himself, pushing up his glasses. _Oh, that's right. They're not, nor is that garb he's wearing? How the hell does he get away with this? Oh, wait. That's right. His parents run the largest drug cartel in London and will kill anyone who pisses them off. Logic._

Sherlock stared at the new student beside him. He clearly had no kind of home training. He leaned back in the chair, propping his muddy boots, maybe even blood covered boots on his desk, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. The kid didn't dress like he was part of an ever expanding cartel. He was straight punk from his green fohawk (the sides and back of his head was shaved with that was a number four guard and Sherlock noted he was a natural blonde) to the multiple piercings in his ears and on his face, to the acid washed vest and black tight fit T-shirt with some kind of chain with a weird design hanging from it. It wasn't a pentagram or anything like that. A band logo maybe. He had classic tight fit, black ripped skinny jeans tucked into biker boots. He placed the cigarette behind his left ear and pulled out a packet of gum. Even his tongue was pierced, Sherlock noted when heOPENED his mouth to put the gum in his mouth. The brunette vaguely wondered what else the new student had pierced. His right eyebrow was pierced, the bridge of his nose was pierced, the left side of his nose was pierced, the center of his bottom lip was pierced-and it wasn't a stud, and then there was his tongue. His arms- well his body in general was welled muscled, strong looking. He looked tough as hell.

The bell to go to the next class made Sherlock sigh.MATH. Dull Sherlock gathered his books in his arms and stood. He was one of the first out the door. The new kid, John, the second, though he wandered behind Sherlock, looking at his schedule. One of the school bullies knocked Sherlock's books out of his hands and pushed him on the floor. He was all too used to this. He groaned as his knees hit the solid floor and the steady pressure of a foot on his back kept him down.

"Come on, freak. Get up," chanted the bully. Sherlock just collapsed on the floor as always. "Come on loser!"

The heavy sound of boots made Sherlock glance back, and the weight of the foot was lifted off his back.

"Oi," said a thick, gruff voice, laced with venom. "Nobody likes a bully." Sherlock rolled over, his daily bully lifted up by the throat. John was much shorter than the boy, but his feet weren't touching the floor as he was slid up the wall. " _I_ don't like a bully. You know what I do to bullies? I normally shot them in the head. Fuck off his case. Next time I see you bullying, I'm gonna shoot you in the face, and I'll make sure to mess up the gorgeous nose you have there. That's not a threat, it's a promise." He dropped the bully before he lost the ability to breath and he took off.

Sherlock frowned and looked down, a light blush coming to his cheeks. No one has ever intervened before, not even his older brother. John held his hand out for Sherlock.

"Hey, loser, getYOUR sorry ass out the floor," John said.

Sherlock took his hand and pushed himself up as John pulled. THANKS," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Learn how to defend yourself. Put some muscles on those arms so you'll be able to do something other than just lie there."

John walked off in search of his next class. Sherlock stood there for a moment before gathering his books. Sherlock was a genius, too smart to even be in high school, and even he wasn't sure if John just said 'you're welcome' or if he was just flirting with him. It could have been either or both. His day was just starting to get interesting.

t(-_-)t

Around lunch time is when Sherlock saw John again. It was a shame he wasn't in any other classes with him. He'd taken a light interest in him. Sherlock when through the lunch line and sat at the table with him. John frowned.

"Just because I pulled a bully off of you doesn't make us friends, loser," he said coldly to Sherlock, who simply shrugged it off.

"I don't have friends. I only have enemies," Sherlock stated, pushing his lunch towards John as a sign for offered friendship.

John looked at the plastic tray, damn well knowing what Sherlock was offering. He was glaring at Sherlock, but the brunette could see past the glare and see what he thought was the real John-well at nicer, calmer John. He was definitely punk to the core. John inched his long thick fingers towards the tray. He let out a soft sigh. "Thanks, but no thanks. You couldn't handle a friendship with me," he said, but he took the tray and dumped the food onto his own and took a bite. "Too dangerous for someone wiry like you."

Sherlock took out a pen and wrote on a napkin. "Text me if you change your mind, John."

"Whatever," he muttered.

Sherlock tilted his head. "So what kind of drugs are you selling?"

John looked up. "You name it, I got it." He opened up the vest to reveal several labeled pockets stitched in haphazardly, constantly fixed. He pulled out a baggie for each drug he listed. "Mary Jane, hash, heroin, opium, cocaine, meth, ectasy. Meh, that's all I have on me." He put the drugs back into their respective pockets. "There's a reason we're the largest drug cartel in London and expanding. We're diverse in what we sell." He leaned back in his chair. "I've sold a few bags already to a bunch of numskulls. All these newbies going hard on the first snort. I suggest if it's your first time doing drugs, then start off with a blunt. They're cheaper and more common so the drug charge won't be as high if you get caught."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Thanks for the tip. How much?"

John finished off the rest of his lunch and took a cigarette from behind his ear. He produced a lighter and lit up. "It's cheaper to come to me for drugs," he said simply, taking a drag. "Mum and Dad sell if for its actual price. I charge much less. I get more business, therefore I make more money than they do in a month. I charge the right price to fit my customer. Depending on how many ounces they way and how much money they got. Rich boys pay top dollar. I made and grew most of this shit myself, and I expect damn good money from those who can afford it." He took another drag, blew out smoke, studied the grey substance before it disappeared and he took another drag.

"Do you do any of your own drugs?"

John shrugged his broad shoulders. "I like to stay on top of things most of the time, so I smoke a blunt or two every once in a while. I'm not risking getting addicted to anything. Too many health problem and I'm already an alcoholic. I don't need to worry about mixing drugs and alcohol together." He toyed with his lip piercing. He tossed the butt of his cigarette at Sherlock once he put it out. He brushed ashes off his uniform.

Sherlock watched as John's tongue pushed and wiggled the piercing absentmindedly. He pulled out his pack of gum, threw a piece at Sherlock, and popped a piece in his mouth. He leaned against his hand. His pinky circled around the large hole in his ear. Sherlock honestly though that stretching one's ears was disgusting, but, on John, it was wildly attractive.

The punk teenager looked at Sherlock. "By the way, what's your name, loser?" he asked, sliding the napkin with the number on it towards the brunette.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scribbled his name onto the napkin. "Call me Sherlock."

"I'll call you whatever I want. Don't expect to hear your name come out of my mouth anytime soon. You have to earn that right," he said coldly, sending a glare at him, though he went slightly unfazed by it.

"So what are you gonna call me?"

"Loser, for now. Until I think of something better?"

"Are you going to think about it?"

"Not gonna waste a minute on it, loser. Don't worry about it. We're acquaintances, now, if that pleases you, I guess. I shoot you a text whenever I feel like it." John lazily stood and stretched. "Later."

Sherlock frowned. "Where are you going? Class starts in thirty-five minutes."

"And? Worry about yourself until I give you a damn good reason to worry 'bout me." He picked up the napkin and shoved it in his pocket. He took out another cigarette and placed it between his lips. He walked off, leaving the brunette sitting at the lunch table.

 _Fuck, he's a major dick. Interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock pulled his shirt over his head, sighing as he heard Mycroft enter his room. He very much knew why he was standing by his dresser. He tucked his shirt in his trousers. "Mycroft, you're the one who told me I needed to make friends," he said with another sigh, this one more exasperated than before.

"Yes, Sherlock, I did, but I didn't mean for you to make friends with a drug dealer," Mycroft shot back acidly.

"Well, we're not even friends. We just talk to one another."

"Sounds like friendship to me," Mycroft said.

Sherlock looped his belt through the belt loops. "Well maybe, Mycroft, I wouldn't be so desperate for a friend if you would talk to me at school. But he's best fit to be my friend. He's an outcast, different. Just like me so. What's wrong with that?"

"I'm concerned about my little brother."

"I would be more concerned about what Greg thinks of the knew cologne you're wearing. Jesus, it's strong."

Mycroft huffed. "Mummy bought it," he muttered. "She doesn't have the best taste in cologne."

"Which is why I never wear any."

"Oh, whatever. You should. You smell like a girl."

Sherlock picked up his bag and books. "Apologies for being too feminine for you, brother. Come one, or we'll be late."

(-_-)

History. That was the class that wasn't boring. Not with John's music blasting like it was through his headphones. He was popping his gum often. He looked as cool and relaxed as one could be in school. His green was a little lighter than it was yesterday. He wore the same vest as yesterday, a black T-shirt, and camouflage trousers tucked into his boots. He had bracelets today. Band bracelets. His shirt cut short on his arms, revealing a winding snake down his bicep. A longer look and Sherlock concluded it was a King Cobra, ready to strike. Sherlock looked up when his name was called. He gave the answer to what was on the white board and went back to studying John. Five minutes later, the teacher walked over to John, tapped his shoulder. The natural blonde slowly took the right headphone out of his ear and looked up at her.

"Yes?" he said casually, blonde eyebrow raising in a beautiful arch.

"Could you turn that down. Are you going to take this test or not?" She was more irritated with the punk than anything and John put his feet down, leaning forward. He popped his gum.

"I'll take the damn test," he said.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow, not looking at the punk. He gave a slight shake of his head.

"Hey, loser, give me pen." He flicked Sherlock's ear lightly, not really intending on it to hurt at all, more so get his attention.

Sherlock smirked and reached into his bag, handing him a pen that was multicoloured. John handed it back.

"Funny, loser. Give me a pen that writes smooth. Those don't write worth a shit."

"Language!" the teacher scolded.

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock handed him a smoother black pen. He nodded at Sherlock and leaned back in his chair, smirking at the teacher as he took the test that was passed back to him. He took one and passed it back. The brunette looked over at John's paper as he wrote-no- _signed his name_ on the paper in elegant cursive that didn't fit his punk style or attitude. He turned his eyes back to his own test and scribbled his name across his paper.

Test. Boring. Too easy for him. He finished in ten minutes. Three minutes later, John was done, but he didn't turn it in when he finished. Instead, he went back over his test, clicking his tongue as he changed an answer it two. Sherlock had casually glanced at John throughout the test. He might have not been in clad long enough to pick up on the information, or had been listening during the review, but he damn well knew the stuff. An A, he wasPOSITIVE of. John stood and threw his paper at the teacher.

John sat back down and propped his feet on Sherlock's desk. The brunette raised his eyebrow as he studied the boots. Combat boots. Gortex name brand. Expensive. Three years old, but well kept. Polished. Shoelaces are new, laced tight. He looked at John, who was either too absorbed in his music or in his thought too even notice Sherlock read studying him. But the casual way he flipped him off told him otherwise. He toyed with his lip piecing with his middle finger. Sherlock scoffed lightly. He returned the gesture by pushing up his glasses with his middle finger. John threw a piece of gum at him. He tapped in his desk. Sherlock recognized it as Morse code.

 _Loser. You casual fuck._

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Why would you know Morse code?_

 _Why wouldn't I?_ John's eyes were focused on Sherlock's hand do he didn't have to listen to each tap.

Sherlock shrugged.

 _Are you that dense? My family teaches each returning customer Morse to communicate without getting caught. Morse isn't used often and confuses the hell out of the police when you start clicking in what they think is random patterns._

"Stop the taping!"

Sherlock looked at the front. _Second day here and she'sALREADY done with you._ He smirked and gave him a thumbs up.

John raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and took out his iPod touch. It was old and scratched up. With the kind of money he mad, he was surprised he didn't own a new model. He still had the second generation iPod. He pulled up the music app and hit paused, taking out his headphones and wrapping them around the device.

"Oh, how nice of you to takeYOUR headphones out at the end of class!" theteacher said sarcastically. "Would you like to share with the class what you were listening to?"

John scoffed. "Like you give a damn. But if you like to know, it was _Go To hell, For Heaven's Sake_ by Bring Me The Horizon. Are you interested in how it goes? I can sing it for you if you like," he said in this sweet and calm voice that it was easily recognized as sarcasm.

"Oh, sure. Why not?" Even her voice was laced with sarcasm.

John cleared his throat.

 _For the love of God, will you bite your tongue?_

 _Before we make you swallow it!_

 _It's moments like this when silence is golden._

 _And then you speak._

 _No one wants to hear you!_

 _No on wants to see you!_

 _So desperate and pathetic!_

 _I'm begging that you spare me the pleasure of your company?_

John smirked and blew a bubble, popping it as he stared at his teacher with the most shit eating look ever. Sherlock covered his mouth and laughed quietly. John tapped on his desk.

 _That entertained you huh? I have plenty of songs on my playlist I could do this with._

Sherlock grinned. This class was definitely entertaining. "You actually tried on that test, didn't you?"

"Yeah, your point?"

"I can tell you, most people think you're an idiot," Sherlock said, looking around the room and watching many of the students stiffen.

John lazily scratched his neck. "Think what they want. They can deepthroat all ten inches."

The bell rang and John flicked Sherlock's ear, putting the pen behind his left ear. He assumed there was a cigarette behind his right. John waited on Sherlock while he gathered his books. John rolled his eyes.

"Why bother carrying books?" he said as he walked put behind the taller brunette.

"I don't know? To build up the arm muscles?" Sherlock remarked.

"Smartass, eh? Watch out."

Sherlock laughed. "Or what? Gonna stab me with the knife in your left pocket?"

John frowned. "How'd you-?"

"Either that's a knife you are a little happy to see me." He smirked.

"Don't get to cocky, loser."

"Ironic choice of words, hm?"

John scoffed and pushed Sherlock lightly into a wall. His books didn't fall out of his arms and his face didn't hit with bruising impact, so he figured it was a friendly gesture, whatever the hell a friendly gesture would be when it comes to a drug dealer that was definitely punk at heart. He walked quietly beside John, grinning as they began to talk chemistry. John was casual when he talked about making his first _good_ batch of meth when he was twelve, and Sherlock remarked that it really didn't take a genius to make meth, that really anyone who understood chemistry could do it.

"Sue me. I was twelve and just learning how to cook it." John said with a rather adorable pout. "And I was still _learning_ chemistry in the process."

Sherlock smirked at how defensive he got, but he couldn't say much. He's seen his chemistry work for yesterday lying around on the floor in class. He was doing college work in chemistry and doing a very good job at it too.

"I won't lie, I thought you were going to need a tutor to get caught up with these things."

John looked at Sherlock, amused. "Just because I've never been in school doesn't mean I don't know anything. This is my first year. I schooled myself growing up. I had to take one of those stupid test to see where you are kind of thing every class, and I've passed every one of them with a perfect score."

"I wouldn't think you would have any free time."

"I have some between deals on the street."

"Why did you even bother registering for school in the first place? It's pointless when you know all the material that's being handed to you."

John looked up at Sherlock and put a cigarette from behind his ear in his mouth. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit up, taking a long drag and puffing out the smoke in Sherlock's face. "Isn't it obvious why? People in their ninth through twelfth year at most likely to make the choice to try drugs. Those who get addicted, which most do, become regular customers. I'm getting money by attending school now. Bigger rep for me."

The brunette shrugged. "Still. You could probably deal without coming."

"Probably, but whatever. See you at lunch, loser." John said after taking a drag, parting from Sherlock to head to his next class.

Sherlock nodded, and he tightened his grip on his books as he watched John walk away. He studied the way his back muscles moved as he walked and also hot damn what an ass he had. It should be as illegal as his drugs to look so damn good. Sherlock went to his next class. His walk was cut short when his older brother leaned casually against the wall halfway to his class. He stuck his umbrella out to stop Sherlock. The brunette sighed and stood in front of Mycroft.

"What the hell do you want now?" he demanded icily.

Mycroft turned all his weight to his umbrella. "I told you this morning." Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to walk off, but Mycroft grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back. "Delete him, Sherlock. He's nothing important to you."

"Delete him? What would Mummy say to you if I told her I was making a friend and you rudely try to break it off?" Sherlock tilted his head curiously, but he held a sly smirk.

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, Mummy would most definitely would be upset. But with who will she be upset with most? You are befriending a drug dealer. That can't be a good influence, now can it?"

"But what if it's a great influence?"

"Then I'll owe you an apology and the answers to the math test in two weeks."

Sherlock scoffed. "I don't need your answers. To even suggest that I would is a downright insult!"

"Go to class, Sherlock. And delete John Watson, you stubborn bastard."

Sherlock just waved Mycroft off as he walked on to his math class. He was the stubborn bastard? Mycroft couldn't say a thing. He was just as stubborn. He took his seat next to Greg, slamming his books down. He plopped down in his chair with about as much grace as a drunk. The blonde beside him leaned over towards him.

"He's just worried about you, Sherlock. People are talking about John Watson," he said, shoving him lightly. "Don't take it too much to heart. You know how he is."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He looked straight ahead and said with the most serious expression:

"I'm gonna buy you a ball gag, by the way how's the carpet burn?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "Sod off!"

"But seriously. How's the carpet burn?"

"Hurts, but well worth it. How's your sexuality?"

"Nonexistant."

Greg laughed and leaned back in his chair. "Bet that won't last too terribly long. I give you a month. Maybe less-no a month is good."

Sherlock glared at Greg. Fuck him and his cruel humor about Sherlock's sexuality. Fuck him to the moon and back.

t(-_-)t

Lunch didn't come fast enough in Sherlock's droned on boringly, as usual. Chemistry bored him seeing as they weren't in the lab for once. He'd found John's work on the floor again, and he picked it up, getting up and turning it in at the end of class. When the bell for lunch finally rang, Sherlock darted out of the room quickly, and he was rather shocked to run into John. He stumbled back awkwardly, losing any kind of smart remark.

John didn't look happy-well, he never did from what he could tell in the short time he's know him- but he _really_ didn't look happy. John grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Sherlock squeaked as he was man handled.

"Tell your brother to back off my case or he will find himself choking on his own blood. Got me, loser?" John growled at him, lips curled angrily.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. Yep, yep. He understood. He understood. He tapped out yes on the wall behind him, and John calmly put him down, brushing out the wrinkles he'd put in Sherlock's crisp shirt.

"I would hate to have to gut him for scaring away valuable customers."

Sherlock swallowed again. He walked quietly beside John. Maybe Mycroft was right. Maybe he shouldn't be trying to befriend John, especially if he terrified him so easily. Oh, who was he kidding?He was still gonna try. John seemed more at ease now, letting go of the fact that he basically just lifted someone off their feet and threatened his brother. John pushed him into the wall lightly and yanked him back to his side.

"Calm yourself, loser," he said lightly, giving a smile that touched his eyes.

They got their lunch and sat at the same table they did yesterday, Sherlock pushing his tray over to John, who gladly accepted it. And he ate every bit of it too. After he finished eating, he stared at Sherlock, pushing and wiggling his lip ring with his tongue. Sherlock squirmed in his seat as he watched John a little too intently.

"Do you feel that?" John asked, raising his pierced eyebrow.

"Feel what?" Sherlock asked with confusion.

"We hit it off too easily," John said. "It's weird, but I would ten/ten bang you. Smart is the new sexy, and you have definitely got the brain I'm looking for."

Sherlock turned a bright shade of red and averted his eyes away from John as those eyes looked over him. Maybe Greg was right too. Maybe it would take less than a month for him to 'find' his sexuality, and the way John was looking at him now... It Should be illegal like his drugs as well for having an ass like he did. Damn. When he finally did look at John, his attention was somewhere else. Sherlock followed John's eyes.

"The people in this school are idiots."

"I know," said Sherlock. "He's interested..he wants something you're settling."

"How do you know?"

"He's looking at you with interest. "

"I'll be back.".John got up and headed casual in the direction of the boy starting him down. He sat beside him, scooted into his personal space and put and an arm around him.

Sherlock smirked as he watched John pull the knife out of his pocket. He watched the deal go down and John smiled, probably saying thanksor something, and walked back over to Sherlock and say down. He tapped on the table and grinned.

"You were right. Sold my last few bags of Mary Jane."

"I'm always right. More or less. You know, I can probably point out people who want something?"

"You're working your way up to your name," John said, licking his lips.

"Never thought I would have to earn my name." Sherlock's eyes never left John's tongue as it swiped across his lips.

John leaned back in his chair, twisting one of the many studs in his right ear. He studied Sherlock far too long. It was making him uncomfortable, but uncomfortable in a good way, like when someone sees something they like and ugh. What was happening to him? He never thought about having friends before. He never thought about liking someone before. This was all very, very new to him. New, he liked, but this new just confused the ever living shit out of him. What was it about John Watson, the scary punk drug dealer, that made Sherlock feel differently about having a friend or a...or a...a...crush. Two days! It's only been two days!

The punk leaned closer, his eyes darting this way and that across Sherlock's highly confused face. He lingered on those sharp cheekbones, skimmed down to those quivering pink lips. Sherlock easily read John's open face. It held nothing but pure amusement.

"You feel it too. It's as clear as day that you feel it too."

Sherlock turned a brighter shade of red. He's never been more embarrassed in his life! Two days! Two fucking days! Fuck, John was actually very charming in his own special, dick-like way. Maybe it was in the way he called him 'Loser.' He never really and truly meant 'Loser' but Sherlock didn't mind him calling him a loser verses everyone else

"Hey, freak."

Sherlock frowned. That wasn't John's voice. It was too high. He recognized it as the one that constantly bullied him. He turned around, and he was met with a tray to his face, the plastic hitting him hard enough to break his nose. The food that was on it spilled into his lap and down his shirt. He groaned in pain and held his nose. He wiped potatoes off his face.

John's pierced eyebrow twitched. He stood popping his knuckles. He walked around the table to face the taller boy. "Pretty boy, I thought I told you I would fuck your face up next time I caught you bullying. Give me your name."

The boy smirked and push John, and there was a collect 'oh' from the other boys in the cafeteria. One of the teachers stood but was pulled down and whispered furiously at. "Scott. What are you gonna do about it?"

John crossed his arms, scanning over the cafeteria. "Scott," he said as he turned icy eyes at him. "You have some real nerves," he continued, taking the full tray from one of Scott's friends, "talking to me like that." John slammed the tray into Scott's face with such force that it broke _his_ nose and knocked him back. He then grabbed him by the back of the neck. "That's for breaking Sherlock's nose. And this..." He slammed Scott's head into the table. "...This is for testing my patients with you. And this." He took out his knife. "This is to warn you to never try it again. Am I being clear, or did I turn your pathetic little brain into mush with the table?"

Scott was groaning in pain, but he quickly nodded, to the point where it made John's head hurt just thinking about the concussion he more than likely just gave Scott. He put his knife up and Scott go. "Now be a good pretty boy and get yourself straight and think about the next time you want to speak to me like that. I was raised to slit a throat when someone pissed me off. "

Sherlock raised both of his eyebrows when Scott slowly staggered off with his friends. John turned to Sherlock and grab hold of his nose and tilted his head back. Sherlock yelped in pain and John just told him to quit whining, that it would heal rather quick.

"What are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Helping you get your nose aligned right. Don't fix it now, it's gonna heal wrong and then you'll have to get your nose rebroken so it'll heal correctly. Also your nose it bleeding and I'm gonna shove tissue up your nose."

"So, I'm gonna have to hold my head like this while you go get tissue?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "No. You're gonna keep you head like this while I reach into my pocket for some tissue. "

"John?"

"What?"

"I can't breathe."

"Use your mouth. God gave you two ways to get air for a reason."

Sherlock would have scoffed, but he couldn't even if he tried. It would hurt too bad. John rolled up pieces of tissue and shoved them both up his nose like he said and tilted his head back down. John smirked.

"Wow, I've never seen a broken nose bruise so fast! Fascinating!"

Sherlock frowned. "John, my nose is broken, and I'm in pain. Walk with me to the nurse."

"Walk yourself since you asked so nicely," John said, picking up both of their trays.

"Please?" Sherlock tried.

"That's more like it."

John walked Sherlock to the nurse even though he really didn't need to. Sherlock patted John's shoulder in appreciation.

"You broke someone's nose for me," he said.

John looked in the opposite direction, hiding a grin. "Yeah, well, you're of importance to me in spotting potential customers."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Are you saying I'm a friend now?"

John rolled his eyes. "From what I hear, you're the freak that can deduce things in two point five seconds. Take it as you will."

"Friend," Sherlock confirmed.

"Whatever you like to believe."

Sherlock was a little giddy now. He could officially say he has his first friend ever. He was rather excited about that, but he kept his calm expression on his face, even against the raging pain tearing through his face and ignored the fact that in reality, he just wanted to sit in a corner and cry like a bitch. Fuck, his nose really fucking hurt!

t(-_-)t

"Sherlock, I told you he was bad new!" Mycroft exclaimed as he looked over Sherlock's broken nose. "I told you to delete him!"

"Mummy!" Sherlock yelled childishly. "Mycroft keeps yelling at me!"

At this point, his mother wasn't sure what to do. Should she agree with Mycroft, because the older brother was correct. John could be a bad influence on Sherlock. But Sherlock was also correct as well. Sherlock tried to make a friend and succeeded, though it took him getting a broken nose. John also, rudely, stopped Sherlock as being a victim of bullying, going on what Sherlock described to her. Oh, she was conflicted! She clicked her tongue as the doctor finished bandaging Sherlock's nose.

"He'll be fine," the doctor said. "It'll heal shortly."

Sherlock huffed and glared at Mycroft. "I'm not your baby brother!" he sighed exasperatedly. "I'm your _younger_ brother. Quit treating me like I'm a baby. I'll learn one day."

"Sherlock, no you won't. You'll never learn and you know it."

"By the way, Greg said he doesn't like the cologne. Quit wearing it."

Mrs. Holmes frowned. "But I bought it."

"Yes, and you have no good taste, Mummy," said both boys, Sherlock getting down and standing beside his brother.

"Can we go home now?" Sherlock asked. "Tons of homework, and I don't feel like being up all night trying to complete it all."

"Think about that next time you get hit in the face with a tray," Mycroft said.

Sherlock gasped. "Oh! That reminds me, Mycroft. John said back off or you'll be choking on your own blood. I guess he didn't like it when you intervened on a deal." Sherlock walked past his mother.

Sherlock's phone vibrated while Mycroft complained once again. He smiled at his phone as he realized the unsaved number was John's.

 _How's the nose, loser? I told you it would heal soon._

 _-JW_

 _It's fine. Mycroft is bitching. Mummy is concerned. This is my daily life at home._

 _-SH_

 _I was just checking in. See you tomorrow._

 _-JW_

Sherlock closed his phone and put it in his pocket, grinning the entire way out of the hospital.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft couldn't stand it. He was clearly not happy about the situation at all. Their mother was _impressed_ with John. She liked him a lot already. He was being oh so polite and kind, complimenting her like crazy. Sherlock stood with a lazy smirk on as his face as he looked at Mycroft, arms crossed. Mycroft just _refused_ to believe that this was John's true colors. That this devilish looking drug dealer was actually a teddy bear underneath the tough facade just irritated the elder brother.

"Mummy, don't tell me you _approve_ of him!" Mycroft exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"He's a nice gentleman," she said, sending Mycroft a scolding glare. "That just happens to deal drugs."

"Look at his tattoos! How could you want such a bad influence-"

Mycroft stopped, because he realized that Mummy was no longer listening to him, but instead watching John push up his sleeve to show the rest of his snake tattoo. It was a realistic tattoo. Whenever he moved his arm, it looked like the snake would try to slither away, but it was caught, tacked down, keeping it in place as it moved. He pulled his sleeve down to wear it was supposed to be. He showed her the outline of his next tattoo. A hunting knife. he didn't really offer and explanation for it, just said that it was his Dad's idea of a tattoo. He didn't particularly like it, but he couldn't really argue with his father.

"So, you've been keeping Sherlock from being bullied?"

"More or less, yeah. I can be quite threatening." John pushed on his lip piercing. "I did break a kid's nose. He'll be left alone, I promise."

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, and he did give the kid a concussion."

John's eyebrow twitch. "You are pushing your luck with me, Mycroft. You're really pushing it." John's phone rang and he opened it. He frowned and checked the inside of his vest. "I've got to dash. It was nice meeting, Mrs. Holmes." He flicked Sherlock's ear. "Later, loser." He picked up his motorcycle keys off the coffee table.

"Text me?" Sherlock said hopefully.

John scoffed as he opened the door. He looked back at the brunette. "I'm not your boyfriend," he said as he closed the door behind him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat on the couch where John had been sitting. "You can't stand seeing me perfectly content, can you Mycroft?" Sherlock muttered, picking up his phone when it vibrated. A text from Greg. He opened it.

 _Tell the idiot to check his phone._

 _-Lestrade. G_

"You're boyfriend says check your phone," he said, putting his back down in his lap.

Mycroft frowned and pulled his phone out from his back pocket. "Why do you even have his number?" Flipping it open, his cheeks turned a dark shade of red and he walked away, back to his room.

Sherlock watched him. "Hm, from how quickly he left the room, I'd say that Greg just sent him a thick pic and is currently waiting up in his room."

Mrs. Holmes sighed. "Jesus, again? He could be a little less obvious, couldn't he?"

"Where's the fun in that? There's always that thrill of getting caught in the middle of a heated moment that would probably drive anyone crazy. Just saying, Mummy." Sherlock picked up his phone, going through his messages. He replied to the text from Greg.

 _You could be less obvious. A dick pic. Quite clever to get him to turn that shade of red. I congradulate you, but of course, Mummy knows so be on your toes._

 _-SH_

He was pretty sure the text was going to go unread for awhile. Sherlock went to the kitchen, picking up a bottle of water and returning to the couch. He curled his feet up underneath himself, setting his phone on the arm of the couch.

"You're waiting on John to text you back, aren't you?"

"That obvious?" he inquired as he opened up the bottle and took a sip.

"Yeah, just a little. He's a nice boy."

"When he's not hitting people with trays and slamming heads down on tables, and pulling out his knife on someone. Yeah. He really his nice," he muttered sarcastically. "He's not mean to me. Well, he doesn't intentionally hurt me, so I guess he's alright. I don't know. I've never had a real friend before." He scowled down at the floor and settled himself more in the corner. "He doesn't call me by name. He only calls me loser, but there's no kind of teasing or anything degrading when he says it. He makes it sound like it's _actually_ my name."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the slightest. His taste in music is horrible. I don't understand how he understands it. It's just a lot of screaming. He has a pair of Gortex boots. He loves those. He changes the shoelaces every so often. They're well worn but well kept. He tucks every pair of trousers he owns into his boots and it looks gaudy as hell, but it suits him just right. He's a natural blonde, and the green in his hair is starting to fade. His hands are calloused from a lot of manual labor. He's nothing but pure muscle, probably from lifting pounds of drugs at a time. His knife his dull, so it's used regularly. Streaks show it's constantly cleaned. It's nearly to dull to do any real damage so he is using it now just to really threaten people. There's also gun powder under his fingernails. Everyday, but he keeps himself clean. if that's any evidence from the strong scent of his soap. He handles guns daily-"

"Sherlock," his mother said calmly, interrupting him.

"Huh?"

"You like him," she sing-songed. "No one goes into that much detail about someone unless they like them, and you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, just went into the ocean of details about John Watson."

Sherlock waved her off. "No, no. He's just a friend."

"I give you two months," she said simply before walking off to do some cleaning around the flat.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he studied his mother's swaying form as she walked across the room. Two months? Two months for what? He shook his head. It doens't matter. Whatever she was talking about, she was right. She was always right.

And sometimes, unfortunately, Mycroft was right.

John was as high as the sky when he came back to Sherlock's flat. A half finished blunt, still smoldering, was stuck behind his right ear and he had a dopey grin on his face. Sherlock, who'd never seen anyone so high before, didn't know what to do.

"John, are you okay?"

The answer to the that was obvious. He felt great!

"Ran into a little problem," he said. "Didn't believe it was the real shit, like what else am I gonna sell ya? Biggest drug cartel don't run on lies and that fake shit." John pushed past Sherlock. He sat down on the couch and picked the blunt from behind his ear. He took a drag and and offered it to Sherlock. Sherlock raised his eyebrow and John shook his head. "No, no, what am I doing? You don't smoke, you don't smoke."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled as John exhaled. Ugh, the smell was god aweful! You'd definitely have to be high to smoke something that smelled so bad. The brunette took the blunt away and put it out. "John, you're high."

"Obviously," John said with a smirk. "Gimme that back. That's hard work right there. Light it back up." He fumbled around in his pockets when Mrs. Holmes came back.

She studied him for a long moment. "Is he high?"

"As the sky," John said in a sing song voice, producing a lighter. "Terribly sorry for showing up in this state. Kid, give me that back. I'm not wasting that."

Sherlock shook his head. "Not in my flat. You need to go home."

"I'd rather not. Lucky I got my sorry ass here without crashing my bike."

"Fine. I'll go outside and finish it. You mind? Anybody? I don't care." John stood and tried to take the blunt from Sherlock, but Sherlock just raised his arm, putting it way over John's head. "Noo, don't do that, mate. Give it back. Don't keep it unless you're gonna smoke it.'

"John, I'm not smoking it, and neither are you."

John waved him off and sat back down. He leaned his head back agianst the cushins and swayed to some unheared beat. He hummed and grinned that stupid dopey grin. Sherlock put the blunt behind his ear. John was still trying convince Sherlock to give it back. He took John's vest and placed it back in its corresponding pocket. He hung the vest up on the coat rack.

"Come here, pretty boy," John said, motioning for Sherlock to come towards him.

Sherlock did, didn't think twice about it. He should have saw that dark glint in his eye that John waas up to nothing but trouble, and as soon as he was in arms length, pretty boy's mouth was on John's. He was shocked and wasn't sure how to respond, whether or not it was just the weed talking . John was damn good with his tongue, because it darted out over his lips, made him moan at the feeling. He had a tight grip of his plain white T-shirt, Sherlock braced with one hand on the back of the couch. That skilled, pierced tongue circled his own, rubbed deliciously against it. His lip piercing presses relentlessly against his bottom lip, and he shivered at the feeling.

The brunette pulled away from him, sitting down on the coffee table panting and confused. And John, and John just sat there on the couch looking down at him with such a shit eating grin. This time, the blonde produced a pack of actual cigarettes since Sherlock refused to give him back his blunt. He lit that up instead and took a long drag and exhaled the smoke. John licked his lips. He tilted his head as he looked at Sherlock, and he took another drag, polite enough to flick the ashes down his own shirt so they wouldn't get anywhere in the flat.

"What, why did you just-?" Sherlock started.

John laughed a bit, exhaling smoke as he did. "Kiss you? You see, pretty boy. I'm not as high as I made you think...No wait...yeah, I probably am. I don't know? Pretty stoned, yeah. But what? I don't know." He started rambling nonsense and Sherlock just looked even more confused than ever. "Oh, darlin' don't look like that. It's cute."

Sherlock turned a bright shade of red and hid his face by turning to the side. John laughed and stood, leaning towards Sherlock. The brunette leaned back, but John just kept coming forward. He kissed Sherlock again, and he responded automatically and kissed him back. Sherlock should have had some shame for this, even though he didn't initiate the kiss. For God's sake, he was kissing his best and only friend on his mother's coffee table.

John's reasoning was nonexistant. Sherlock broke the kiss and shoved John back, or at least tried to. John was really focusing all his weight forward. John seemed to get the messaged and sat back down, though he nearly missed the couch. Sherlock just stared at John with narrow eyes, observing him as he pushed up his shirt to scratch his firm, flat stomach. When John moved his hands, he could see that even his bellybutton was pierced. Sherlock shuddered and stood up, picking up his bottle of water and drinking from it.

Eventually, John came down from the clouds and was currently repeatedly apologizing for his behavior-whatever it was. John rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Sherlock didn't find it absolutely necessary to tell John they shared a somewhat heated kiss. It was nearly three am and it was jet black outside. He picked up his keys looked at Sherlock. "Later, loser," he said. "Thanks for keeping that blunt away. I would have been high enough to see God if I had finished that one."

"John, how many did you smoke?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

John frowned and went through the pocket that held his blunts. How many did he sell? How many did he have? He shrugged. "Three, four maybe? Okay, maybe two? Somewhere along there." John chuckled, picking up the helmet he'd left when he left earlier.

Without another word, John left and Sherlock listened to the roar of John's bike outside. When he could no longer hear him. He went back up to his room, pushing open the door to Mycroft's room. He walked in and flicked Greg's ear until he work up. The sleeping blonde pulled the cover up over his bare shoulder. He yawned.

"The fuck do you want?" he asked grumpily, curling up against Mycroft's back.

"Three am. You need to go home," Sherlock stated bluntly.

Greg stretched and nuzzled against his boyfriend. "Is it really three?" He checked his phone and sat up. "Oh." Another yawn. "Okay." He crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Mycroft up. Sherlock balanced him as he got dressed, the boy still not fully awake yet.

"You're not awake enough to climb out the window," Sherlock said, looking around. He picked up a bottle of water and pulled a capful, throwing it in Greg's face. "Wake your arse up and go home before your mother finds out you were gone." He picked up Greg's phone and stuffed it in his pocket.

Sherlock made sure Greg got out the window safely and got a cab before he went to his own room. He stripped out of his clothes and put on his pajamas. He flopped onto his bed and groaned. He understood what his mother meant by giving him two months.

Okay, yes, it's been two weeks since they've been friends. Maybe he does have a crush on John. Oh, fuck, there was no maybe about it. He _did_ have a crush on John. He only had to blame himself. He let the kiss effect him more than he should have. It was his fault for even allowing it to happen. He should have pushed away when he kissed him the first time, and he shouldn't have even kissed him back the second. This wasn't good. He shouldn't even be thinking about this at three am. He should be asleep and dreaming his normal dreamless dreams. He closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. Once he reached that state where he couldn't move his body, he was asleep in minutes.

t(-_-)t

Sherlock was basically glued at John's side, not just because he wanted to be, but John also wanted him there. He would pick Sherlock up in the morning, lounge around a street corner before school started, and they'd lean against each other. Sherlock would point out someone was looking to buy. He'd be right, John would sell, pocket the money, thank Sherlock, and continue the pattern until they had to leave.

That day, business was slow that morning. Sherlock's eyes were closed and John smoked a cigarette.

"John, what's it like being high?"

John shrugged. "It's a different experience for everybody. I had a friend, when she blazed up, her anxiety showed up."

"What about you? How do you feel?"

"Me? I feel pretty relaxed. I tend to say what's on my mind and do what's on my mind. I'm really open."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stiffened. So he was actually _thinking_ about kissing him yesterday? Sherlock turned the darkest shade of red ever in the history of blushes. John leaned forward, Sherlock standing and covering his face. He began to stammer, looking away when John turned to look at him.

"Hey, loser, what is your problem?" he asked casually, standing as well. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"I-I- John, you k-kissed me!" Sherlock told him, looking away.

John shrugged lightly. "Oh, I know. I'm very much well aware of it."

Sherlock looked up at John. "...Excuse me?"

"I'm very well aware that I kissed you yesterday. I just chose not to say anything about it because we're _supposed_ to be best friend, you know, since we're each other's only friends, and I didn't want to risk our friendship by talking about the fact that I've had the strangest urge to kiss you since the second day here." John raised his pierced eyebrow as he looked over Sherlock with the most serious of expressions. "Breathe, loser, breathe. I don't need you passing out on me."

He was holding his breath? Sherlock didn't realize he was holding his breath. John was laughing at him, and the brunette could quickly feel the anger rising. He pushed John and crossed his arms, pouting. It was a rather childishly adorable pouts that John couldn't help but invade Sherlock's personal space and brush his lips against Sherlock's lips.

"Let's skip, today. I feel we have a lot to talk about," he murmured against his lips.

"Damn right we do!" Sherlock stamped his foot.

John handed Sherlock his helmet, who took it and put it on his head. He laughed at the downright childish behavior and got on his bike. Sherlock through his leg over and put his arms around John. The bike roared to life. He held onto the blonde tightly. He burned a little rubber before speeding off away from the school. John was going faster than normal as he weaved through morning traffic. It made Sherlock dig his nails into the soft leather vest the blonde was wearing today. They were on the other side of London, at an older abandoned house. John put his foot down and switched off. Sherlock got off and handed John his helmet, who sat it on the seat. He pushed his bike up into the garage. Sherlock looked around. The door to the garage was missing, allowing anyone access to the area. John isolated a key and went up to the door. He unlocked it, motion Sherlock to follow him.

The brunette followed the blonde slowly. The house belonged to no one, seeing as how run down the building was, but inside, it was as clean and neat. The heater was running a comfortable seventy-five degrees and the scent of peaches and vanilla filled Sherlock's nose.

"Is this your home?" he asked.

"Nope. I found this place and fixed it up. I pay for lights, water and heat here and that's it. It's good to know people. No house payment."

"This is...this is nice, John, but why are we here. I mean, I know to talk, but why here."

John shrugged, taking off his boots. "I trust you not to tell anyone about this place. It's my house of zen. No bitchy, drugged up parents. No customers go this far for drugs. I bought all this furniture myself. I moved all this stuff in here myself. I come here once or twice a month to make sure bills are paid and to do a bit of cleaning." He wandered through the sitting room and into the kitchen, where he opened up the fridge and got out a beer. He returned to the sitting room where Sherlock was touching things. John sat down on the couch and opened up his beer. "Look, I brought you hear to talk. Sit down and we'll talk."

Sherlock bit his lower lip, and he sat down on the couch beside John. He looked down, slowly returning to that shade of red he was earlier. John took a sip of his beer as he studied Sherlock.

"Do you not like that I kissed you?" John started, seeing as though Sherlock wasn't going to say a thing.

"It was...it was unexpected, and I-I never kissed anyone before." John grunted and Sherlock took John's beer after taking his shoes off. He folded his legs underneath himself, taking a sip and cringing at the taste (John was trying not to laugh). "But I liked it, I really did." He shifted on the couch.

John watched Sherlock toy with the bottle before taking another sip and licking his lips. "I feel like there's a but."

The brunette nodded. "But I'm not sure how I feel. I don't cope well with...feelings." He looked at John. "I really like you. A lot, but..."

The drug dealer could see Sherlock struggle for the words to describe how he felt at that moment. He looked so frustrated, and he was gripping that beer bottle pretty tight. John shoved him playfully and it shook Sherlock out of his frustration enough to get him to smile a bit and take another sip from the bottle. "Are you just gonna drink my beer?" he said, playing with his tongue piercing. Sherlock shuddered and nodded, taking a larger gulp.

Sherlock saw that glint in John's eye he should have notice the first time John kissed him. Sherlock felt a bit more prepared as he sat the bottle down on the coffee table. He was pushed down flat on the couch, John's thick hand pressing down on his collar bones, keeping him in place Sherlock's heart raced as he looked into John's eyes, his lips parted. His lips were met with soft flesh and a piercing. Sherlock's hand instantly reached up, grabbing on to the tattered shirt the teenager above him wore.

He would have been weak at the knees if he were standing right now. John kissed him with such force that it stunned Sherlock. He tried to keep up with the pierced tongue taunting him, raking that neon orange stud along the inside of his cheek, tickled the roof of his mouth, and tangled with Sherlock's tongue. The smaller boy moaned into the kiss. A gloved hand found it's way into Sherlock's soft curls, gripping a handful tight enough to pull his head back. Another moan left the brunette's mouth. John captured Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and pulling lightly on it.

When John pulled away, both men were panting. A line of saliva connected their. John leaned back down to press a softer kiss to his lips, something Sherlock could actually process and keep up with. His hair was released and the hand that was his chest moved beside his head. The warm weight of John settled on top of him, further relaxing Sherlock as their lips melded and pressed together. When they broke apart again, John sat up, licking his lips. Sherlock's cheeks were flushed red and his lips was kiss swollen and his hair was a mess, and God, did the boy look beautiful like this.

John reached for the beer and took a sip. His own cheeks were flushed, and it was a nice contrast against the white shirt and black leather vest he wore. He bit his bottom lip as he looked down at Sherlock, arms covering his face. The brunette wasn't sure how to react. He sat up and looked straight ahead at the telly.

"Hungry?" John suggested dumbly.

"Already had breakfast," Sherlock said.

John finished off the beer. He was about to stand and get himself another when Sherlock spoke again.

"John."

"Hm?" came the punk's reply.

"I can't stay. Mycroft will tell Mummy I skipped."

John nodded, setting the empty bottle down. "I'll take you back."

"Are we still just best friends?"

John sat back down, closer to Sherlock. He put an arm on the back of the couch. He sighed and looked at the boy. "Yeah. We're still best friends. Best friends with certain benefits, if you're okay with that."

Sherlock nodded, smiling softly, and in return, John smiled back. "Yeah. I like that. Best friends with certain benefits." He swiped his thumb along John's bottom lip. "You're a really great kisser. I'm sorry I'm so horrible at it."

John chuckled. "No, no. It's fine, loser. You just need more practice. You're a great snog, actually. You learn fast." He licked his lips. "Come on. Lets go."

t(-_-)t

Sherlock made it to school a little before the second hour bell rang. He passed Mycroft in the hall, but his older brother stopped him. He looked over him. He swiped his thumb over his little brother's bottom lip.

"Kiss swollen..." he muttered. He reached up to ruffle Sherlock's curls. "Helmet hair. You're with John Watson, aren't you?" he demanded, frowning.

"No," Sherlock glared. "I'm not with John. We're friends."

"Then who's my little brother been kissing?"

"Mycroft, it's none of your concern. Can't I have a personal life? And don't give me that concerned bullshit. I'm sixteen and perfectly capable of handling myself." Sherlock roughly pushed past his brother. He stalked into his math class and plopped down in his desk beside Greg, who handed him a bag.

It was his bag.

"You left this on the corner. One of the Watson's dealers brought it me, thinking I was your older brother. You're lucky they didn't hand Mycroft this."

"Thanks, Greg," he muttered.

"Alright. Talk, lad. What's the problem?"

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Mycroft won't leave me be."

"That's not it."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Fine. John came to the flat high, Greg. He kissed me. Twice, and I didn't know what to do. This morning on the corner, I asked him how he felt when he was high-just out of curiosity. He said he tends to say and do things on his mind. He said he was well aware that he kissed be but just wasn't going to say anything about it. I had a fit. He said we'd talk about it and I agreed. I skipped first hour, and he took me somewhere. Yes, we talked about everything, got it sorted out. Shared a beer. And we snogged. And Mycroft, is Mycroft, so he noticed helmet hair and kiss swollen lips and won't sod off my case." He looked at Greg, who tried to look sympathetic, but he couldn't help the amusement he felt. "Stop the piss poor attempt to feel bad for me. Just don't tell Mycroft he was right. Or I will personally cut your testicles off with a blunt knife."

Greg raised his hands. "Sorry, Sherlock. It's just... _cute_."

"There's nothing cute about it."

Sherlock's phone vibrated. He glanced up to see if the teacher was looking, in which she wasn't. He checked his phone.

 _I'll be at lunch today. I've got you something to eat._

 _-JW_

Sherlock smiled at his phone. Greg leaned over to try to see what made the normally cold hearted bastard smile. He was sure it had something to do with John. Sherlock casually flipped John off by rubbing the side of his nose with his middle finger, and then he dug in his bag for his glasses.

t(-_-)t

John was already seated at the lunch table with a duffle bag sitting in Sherlock's spot. He pushed the bag to the side when he saw the brunette. Sherlock sat his backpack down on the floor across from John.

"I manage to get so much more stuff done when I'm not here. I sharpened my knife at last. I actually cooked something," he said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a container. Sherlock reached for it. "Careful. It's still hot." He pulled out a fork.

"What's it?"

"Macaroni and cheese." He pulled out another container. "Baked some chicken." He took out another fork and speared some of the macaroni and cheese once he opened the container. He blew it off and popped it into his mouth.

Sherlock shrugged and poked at the baked chicken before tearing a piece off and taking a bite. It wasn't as bad as he though it would be. They chatted up, spending more time eating. John would speak between mouthfuls and Sherlock would reply once he swallowed.

Some kid walked up to John. "Hey, someone told me I could get good money from you."

John looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You probably could. However, I don't know you and I don't give strangers money. Bugger off."

The kid pulled out a switch blade that was as blunt as a butter knife. Not impress. John looked down at the blood with a bored expression. "Nice try, kid," he said, reaching into the duffle bag and pulling out his much larger hunting knife, recently sharpened. . "But I suggest you bugger off like I said. Don't come haggering me for money. Get a job. Or maybe come talk to me when you have a sharper blade. We might be able to talk business then."

John sighed and put the knife up when the kid left, rolling his eyes. "Do people honestly think I carry all my money with me?"

Sherlock looked around. "Yes."

John scoffed and threw a balled up napkin at Sherlock. "Bloody hell, do you ever stop doing the thing?"

"No. It's just the way I'm wired, though I delete the information once I spit it out, if it's not useful."

John tilted his head. "Delete?"

Sherlock nodded, chew a piece of chicken. "My brain is my hard drive so it seems reasonable to keep valuable information."

"So is that what Mycroft meant by you needing to delete me?"

"Mhm, but don't worry about him. As long as Greg's mouth goes up and down on his shaft once every three weeks, he's manageable."

John grinned and looked down on the table. They both continued to eat lunch, John packing up leftovers to take back home.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was in a stroppy mood, and John wasn't one to normally deal with it. But the way Sherlock's bottom lip was jutted out was just too damn adorable.

"You know, you're damn right kissable when you jut your lip out like that."

"Bite me," Sherlock muttered.

"Do you want to go back home?"

"Yes."

"Then get your shite and lets go."

John took out his keys and spun them around his finger. Sherlock picked up his bag and the helmet beside it. John ushered him out of the classroom. Teachers were urging students into their classrooms before the bell caught them by surprise. John just politely told them to get stuffed as he walked lazily beside Sherlock. John whistled casually and Sherlock pushed him into the wall.

"Quit being so cheery, it's annoying.."

"You are absolutely pleasant this morning. Care to tell me what your problem is?"

Sherlock waved John off as they exited the building. He tightened the straps on his bag. John took the helmet from Sherlock, putting it on over brunette hair and brushing pretty curls from his eyes seemed to calmed down the worked up teenager a bit. John fastened it.

The brunette glanced away briefly. "Ta..."

John raised his eyebrows, acknowledging him. He threw his leg over his bike dramatically, which entertained Sherlock. Sherlock's hands slid over his shoulder and down that well muscled back as he climbed on. His fingers slid underneath John's shirt and locked together around him, nails lightly digging into the hard muscle of his stomach. John shivered and started up his motorcycle. He backed out of the parking carefully before speeding off.

Sherlock closed his eyes, his stroppy mood nearly forgotten as John carelessly, but careful at the same time, weaved in and out of on coming traffic. It made Sherlock tighten his grip on John. He was breaking almost every road law as he turned off onto the old abandoned road that lead up to John's house of zen on the otherside of London. Sherlock put the helmet on the seat when he got off and mused his curls, pulling a few of the dark locks into place. He was shuddering for the experience over him. It always left him pumped with adrenaline whenever he rode with John. John switched off and got out the house key.

"So are you going to tell me what the bloody hell was your problem?"

Sherlock blushed a dark shade of red, and John's pierced eyebrow raised. " _Oh_. Oh, don't tell me it was over something stupid, loser."

The shade of red just got darker. "Yes, it was over something stupid. I was sulking because I haven't been able to properly get off with you in three days. I'm addicted. Bite me."

John slowly smirked as he unlocked the door. "Indeed that is something stupid to be sulking over, but get in here and we'll have ourselves a proper snog, then, yeah?"

Sherlock perked up when John said this, entering into the house quickly. He tossed his bag into the loveseat adjacent to the couch. The brunette wasn't quite experienced enough to initiate the kiss like he so badly wanted to, so he relied on John to make the first move. The blonde did not disappoint. He dropped his keys on the coffee table and grabbed ahold of Sherlock's long face with both hands and pulled him down into a warm kiss. Even though he was expecting it, he still gasped. John's lips were soft and tasted of mint, and it made his own lips tingle. He shivered as those thick hands slid down his thin frame, pulled him closer. Their chests just barely touched, and John was running his fingers up and down his spine, tracing over the vertebrae with touches feather light. There was a sense of security that wrapped around Sherlock, and with a slight tilt of his head and a little adjustment on John's end, the kiss deepened. That lip ring pushed a little hard against his lips. He let himself loose in the sensation of warm lips and cool metal and the taste of mint. John emitted a low growl in the back of his throat that made the taller boy shudder hard against the broader frame of his friend. Oh, that was so oddly... _arousing_.

Sherlock broke away from the kiss, his forehead pressed against John's. He panted lightly and mentally repeated the entire periodic table and some polyatomic ions. He wasn't quite ready for any kind of sexual thing yet. John gave a smile as he watched Sherlock's eyes dart left and right, as if he were reading. His lips quivered, and John let him go through whatever was on his mind before letting him go all together, earning a very pathetic whine form the genius.

John sat down on the couch, legs spread and arms across the back of the couch. It was a casual show of dominance that Sherlock didn't doubt he had. He was relaxed in this position as he looked over the boy. Sherlock went over to him and swung his long leg over John's, straddling him.

John grinned. "Knew you'd get the message," he said before pulling him into a harsher kiss that has Sherlock moaning.

Sherlock couldn't even begin to process what was going happening. John's mouth was relentless, and Sherlock enjoyed it. His tongue was starting to catch on, John grunting in approval. The blonde's hands untucked his uniform shirt from his trousers. He slipped his hands underneath his shirt and slid up his slender form, leaving goosebumps behind that made him shiver.

"Ngh, John..."

John started to withdraw his hands. "Too far?"

Sherlock shook his head, a blush covering his cheeks. He grabbed John's hands by the wrist. "No, it's...it's fine."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Really, John. It's fine."

The drug dealer looked over Sherlock. The brunette's phone vibrated. Sherlock frowned and dug into his pocket. Mycroft called. He sat it aside, uninterested. John gripped the end of Sherlock's shirt.

"Is it okay if I take this off?" John asked, wetting his lips.

Sherlock shivered as his fingers tips rubbed his skin. He nodded, arms up in the air. John peeled the article of clothing off, hands sliding along smooth skin.

"You most certainly are a gift from God," he murmured. " _Beautiful."_

Sherlock's phone vibrated, and brunette answered it, scowling down at John's lap.

"What?"

"Sherlock, where are you, you stupid git?" Demanded Mycroft.

John rolled his eyes and leaned forward to press his mouth to his chest. Sherlock gasped. "N-not at school."

"Sherlock, you know better!"

John had taken to sucking on the center of his chest, leaving a bright red hickey on his pale skin. The brunette shuddered.

"And?" he said, huffing out as that pierced tongue slid to the left, inch by inch. The sensation was very much new, and it felt wonderful. John lapped at the hardening bud, the cool metal swirling around his nipple. Sherlock moaned. "Your point?"

Mycroft paused on the other line. "We are called the Iceman and the Virgin for a reason. Keep it like that!"

"Relax-uh!" John was now sucking, oh God, it felt too good. "I-I am not spreading my legs like a whore, Mycroft."

"Sherlock, I swear if you-"

John tossed the phone to the side, pushing Sherlock down on his back. The brunette giggled, pulling the larger boy on top of his smaller body. He wrapped his legs around him, pulling him into a kiss. John kissed him back hungrily. He rubbed lazy circles just above his clothed hips. His tongue tangled deliciously with Sherlock's, coaxed the muscle into submission. Fingertips slid up his stomach, Sherlock's legs tightening around him.

Sherlock lifted his head, exposing his long slender neck to the punk. John licked his lips, groaning. He was compelled to mark that beautiful neck with bite marks and hickies and just _claim_ the boy as his.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous. Why would someone want to ruin such a beautiful face?" John breathed, nose skimming over his neck, tongue dipping out to lick at his skin.

"Are you saying what I think you are, John? Are you saying that you find me sexually attractive?" Sherlock tilted his head to the side in question.

John chuckled. "You have serious sex appeal." He dragged his fingernails down Sherlock's bare chest and stomach. Sherlock arched into his touch. "You're definitely a ten/ten, pretty boy."

Sherlock blushed, the light shade of red reaching his ears. The blush darkened as John took to thoroughly lick his torso. The air in the room felt cool on his stomach and chest as John swiped his tongue over his skin, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, hand pushing him up bit by bit until he was back at the long, pale neck. He was so tempted to leave hickies on his neck for everyone to see, but instead, he settled with his chest, leaving large red love bites behind. Sherlock arched against his mouth, moaning, and the noise made John suck even harder at the skin. He used teeth, biting where he could, sucking were he couldn't.

The brunette was thoroughly enjoying himself, if his erection didn't say anything for him. John smirked lightly when he pulled away, Sherlock covering his face. John pushed his hands to the side.

"Watch me," John said in the low, seductive voice.

"John, I- _Fuck_!"

John had cut off any protest Sherlock was about to try by stroking him through the fabric of his trousers. John was smooth, pulling down his trousers and pants with one motion. Sherlock managed to get one leg out of his clothes before John was descending smoothly on his cock. This was a wild sensation for Sherlock. The warmed piercing danced about his shaft as John sucked him and _oh fuck this was great_. No wonder Mycroft could only go so long without getting head from Greg. The blonde made a wet pop as he released Sherlock's cock from his mouth.

The brunette was wound tight, and John could sense that. He could tell Sherlock hadn't had any sort of contact down south, not even with his own hand. Sherlock was whimpering as John's thick hand stroked him, eyes never leaving the long, beautiful face. It wouldn't take much to get the genius over the edge with him like this. He swiped his thumb across the tip a few time, sucked carefully on the head, took him down into his throat and swallowed. A steady stream of curses flooded from Sherlock's mouth and hands tangled in green hair as John repeated the pattern a few times. The last time, fourth time, John's throat enclosing around him, is what drop kicked him over the edge, coming down John's throat hard. Sherlock's body jerked violently and his legs twitched at the shear pleasure he was feeling. He saw white until he came down from his orgasm, things turning black as he closed his eyes and painted. He had light sweat on his chest and forehead.

John, on the other hand, was coughing something serious. Okay, yeah. He underestimated how much Sherlock would come. He looked down over Sherlock to see the brunette was blissfully sated, only the slightest look of concern set in his otherwise relaxed features.

"Okay?" came the lazily concerned question.

John beat his chest a few times and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Pleasantly so."

"I didn't expect so much. I had you too deep for that much," he chuckled, sliding his hand along the inside of Sherlock's over sensitive thigh. John pulled up Sherlock's pants and trousers.

Sherlock reached out and tugged on the shirt John wore. "Take it off and come have a rest with me."

John rolled his eyes, but he did like Sherlock said. A nap did sound nice. John made sure the door was locked and he scooped Sherlock's limp body off the couch with ease. He climbed up a flight of stairs where the scent changed from peaches and vanilla to the beach. John kicked open the door on the immediate left off the stairs. There was a king size bed in this room. The walls were a tanned color. The bed made a complete contrast against the walls with it's white comforter and dark wood frame. John pulled back the comforter and settled Sherlock in the bed, pulling the comforter up to his shoulders.

"I'll be in bed with you in a few," he said, leaving the room. He went down stairs to grab Sherlock's phone to bring it up. It said that Mycroft was still on the other end and just never hung up. He shrugged his shoulders. So what if older brother heard? He went back upstairs to Sherlock, plugging the phone up and settling his own beside it.

"Ngh, John...That felt really amazing."

"You're welcome, pretty boy."

John turned on his side, pressing his chest to Sherlock's back, an arm draping over his waist. An arm slipped under Sherlock's head, and they were comfortably spooning. At least, Sherlock was. John wasn't but he wasn't all that too concerned about his own comforts, so long as the curly brunette slept peacefully. John didn't sleep, though. Not automatically. He listened to his best friend snore for a while before he, himself, felt the heavy weight of sleep drag him down.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oi, you git!" John exclaimed when Sherlock took another swing at him. Fuck, the twig was lucky John held back when he punched him. Sherlock was in a pissy mood, John was in a pissy mood, which was absolutely _fucking horrible_. He swung again and knocked him back on the floor, this time not holding back. "We're both not in the fucking mood. Don't bother texting me today. Fuck off." John ordered, throwing Sherlock's phone at the boy before walking out.

Mrs. Holmes stopped John. "Having a bit of a domestic?" she asked.

John waved her off. "Neither of us are in the mood to deal with the other."

The woman tilted John's head back, examining his rapidly swelling eye he had. She turned his head this way and that, studying the bruises that were rapidly appearing on his face. "What happened between you two?"

"Had a little fuss is all. It's no bug deal."

Sherlock came in the sitting room, shouldering his bag with a huff, scowling down at the floor. "...I don't have the money for a cab..."

John huffed and jerked his head from Mrs. Holmes' hands, pulling out his wallet. He sighed as he realized he need to go to the bank to deposit his money. He dropped the cab's fair to and from the school on the table. "Now you do." With that, John picked up the helmet Sherlock always wore, exiting the flat. He put on the helmet, started up his motorcycle, and he sped off, burning rubber as he shot off down the street.

Sherlock picked up the money and put it in his pocket, grumbling. He said good-bye to his mother, but she grabbed his arm.

"You know you could have left with Mycroft," she scolded.

Sherlock scoffed and jerked his arm free. "Mycroft rides with Gregory, and today he's riding his motorcycle. " He told her good-bye again and slammed the door behind him. He hailed a cab and just stared at the window as the driver asked where to, and Sherlock responded with a smartass reply. The ride to the school was spent with him rubbing his bruising cheek. He paid the cabbie before he got out, and went inside. He went straight to the bathroom to look at his face. He hadn't checked it, but he definitely did feel it. The right side of his face tingled, and he knew John had seriously meant that punch-the one that knocked him down. He looked in the mirror, brushing his fingers lightly over the bruising flesh of his cheek. It was large and was already turning a deep purple and black. The area around his jaw was starting swell and constantly popped when he opened his mouth. It was bruised as well.

When the bell rang for first hour, he wasn't expecting John to be sitting in his chair, feet up on the desk. He didn't look at Sherlock when the boy walked in. There was a strong tension in the air that almost everyone could feel. Sherlock took his seat beside John quietly, trying not to get John's attention. Both of them were still fuming, their faces seriously bruised. They're both glaring at the front of the room, but Sherlock's curiosity of John's injuries make him turn his head just slightly to see the blonde out of the corner of his eyes. His eye was nearly swollen shut. Sherlock looked down at his hands, flexing it. His knuckles were swelling and red. Now that he actually paid attention to it, his hand hurt. He hadn't realized he hit John that hard. John's knuckles were in the same condition as Sherlock's, if not already bruising. He was constantly flexing his hands. He didn't have his vest on today, so no drugs. He was clearly not in the mood for customers today.

Sherlock sighed softly. It was his fault they were decently banged up. Sherlock threw the first punch out of his own frustration. He turned his body towards John, even though he wasn't looking at him, making sure he had the blonde's attention as he tapped out on his desk, _I'm sorry._

John scoffed at him. _Damn right you are. I can't see properly._

 _I didn't realize I hit you that hard, John. Sorry._

The tension between them drew tighter and tighter. John's fingers flexed angrily, Sherlock's a bit more in pain. There had been no lesson today, seeing as there was a sub in the room. They'd all been left tons of work to do. The quietness of the room seemed to add to the growing tension. John was unable to take it, so he swiftly shoved back his chair, dropped his feet, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door. All eyes fell on Sherlock, who shrugged.

"I've managed to piss off the drug dealing punk. I would say you're an idiot if you decide to approach him, seeing as he just sharpened his knife and is quite frankly in a killing mood. It's your funeral."

With that, he began working on the thick stack of papers the teacher had assigned him, much more than everyone else. John didn't come back for the rest of the class period. The sub was worried and had gotten the Headmaster to the class, but he had simply dismissed the matter shortly. Seeing as there was a kid with a knife loose in the school, it made sense to look for him before he killed anyone, but seeing as this kid was one who didn't want to be found, he left the matter be.

After the Headmaster had cleared out, Sherlock turned in his stack of work before anyone finished their first sheet. Tedious, is what it all was. He picked up his belongings.

"I suppose I'll save your boring little lives and find him before someone else, yes?" he said aloud, though it was more to himself. He shouldered his bag and he left, eyes darting left an right for any signs that would lead him to the blonde.

The sub looked out towards the rest of the class, old grey eyes darting across each student. "Should I bother?"

"No," came the collective response. "They do what they want, when they want."

"Last names?"

"Watson and Holmes."

Sherlock notice scuff marks on the floor, a glance around again, and he concluded it was of no importance, seeing as it was the only one in the hallway. He slid his fingers across the wall. There were many places for John to hide in this school, but he knew John. He wasn't really hiding-no. He was just separating himself from the rest of the world as he collected himself. That was John. That was his best friend. Cold when needed, always calm and collective. Calm and collective is what keeps him out of jail, the blonde had told him once. The stout teenager was hiding in plain sight- _Or plain smell_ , he thought to himself as he made a sharp right, and the God forsaking smell of marijuana filled his nose. He _tsk_ ed. Of course he would have a blunt or two on his person at all times.

Sherlock found himself standing in front of the boys' bathroom, the awful smell making him sick. Ugh. He took a deep breath and exhaled before walking into the bathroom. John was perched up on the sink, one leg stretched across and resting on the other. One leg was bent, and an arm rested across it. His skinny jeans were riding low on his arse and his shirt had rose up, showing a nice segment of creamy, tan skin. He also had sold black denim vest on-where did he pulled that from He wasn't wearing one earlier.

"John..." Sherlock said uneasily, dropping his beg onto the floor with a dull _thud_.

John didn't acknowledge Sherlock, merely took another drag from his blunt. He ran his fingers, hand clad in fingerless leather driving gloves were studded along the knuckles, enhancing the punk look by ten. "What, loser?" John had said after a long moment of silence after Sherlock had spoke. The brunette nervously toyed with his long coat, eventually deciding to just throwing it over one of the stall doors.

"John, _I'm sorry,"_ he said with more emotion than he meant to.

John shrugged as he finished off the blunt and threw the smoldering butt in the trash. He pulled out his lighter, and another blunt from his boot. "I'm not really interested in your apology. Give it someone who actually gives a damn."

" _I_ give a damn," he said stepping towards John.

"Then apologize to yourself, because I ain't about to hear it."

"Yes the fuck you are," Sherlock said sharply as that knife was pulled out. He flat out ignored it and yanked it from his hand, sheathing the weapon and tucking it in his pants safely. "I'm _sorry_ that I hit you, John. I stepped out of line. I was frustrated over damn experiment that I unintentionally swung at you because you were making it _worse_. So I'm _trying_ to make it _better_. John, you know you're a threat to the safety of the school in a mood like this. And on top of that, you're getting high, and I'm letting you, because maybe, this will help you get what you need off your chest. As your best friend-What are you doing? John, don't walk away from me, you git!"

John was tense, but slowly relaxing as the weed began to work its magic. John kicked the stopper from under the door, and it began to swing shut with a solid push from the drug dealer. The door had three locks on it. Only one could be opened from the outside-a stupid but brilliant idea on the schools part. John locked all three and then turned to his perch on the sink.

"Sherlock..." John trailed off, putting out the blunt and putting it back behind his ear. He was no where near as high as he had been back at his flat that one time.

Sherlock was startled to hear his name, his _actual_ name fall from the blonde's lips. It sounded so right, like it belong there, and the brunette couldn't hold back the shudder that wracked his body from hearing his name fall softly from those soft lips. "You said my name." A panic began to rise in his chest, however. John had said he had to earn his name. And he was afraid he'd just earned his name in a bad way. "You never say my name. Why did you say my name? No, no, John please don't give up on me, you stupid idiot!"

John swung his legs off the sink and stood up, grabbing the sides of Sherlock's long, pitiful looking face, grumbling low under his breath before speaking so the brunette could actually hear him. "You blubbering jackass. I'm not giving up on you. The reason why I came into your room against my better judgment because I didn't really want to follow through with my plan in front of your mother, just in case she would overreact."

Sherlock twisted his head in John's head, and the blonde got the message that he was supposed to be tilting his head curiously. "Do what, John?"

John let go of Sherlock's face, fishing out something in his vest. Sherlock pondered what he could be getting out of his vest? Drugs? Seeing as that is what he always carried in his inside pockets. No-but John was in his outside pockets. He gave a soft ' _Ah-hah, you bastard!'_ when he found whatever he was looking for. He pulled out a, rather feminine, ring, silver. It was designed into an infinity symbol-a promise ring. He turned it this way and that in the light for Sherlock to study, letting him conclude that the ring was not one of those fake rings that turned your finger green after wearing it a while.

"I can't do the friends with benefits thing anymore. I simply can't. Especially after what happened this morning. Even though we're absolutely pissed at each other, you came and found me to try and work it out. That means a lot to me, because Sherlock Holmes, I'm head over heels in love with you." John looked up into misty blue-grey eyes with a soft sigh. His eyes became harder-not terrifyingly so- and he set his jaw, took a deep breath, and he continued on. "Date me, Sherlock Holmes. Please give me the right to call you my boyfriend."

Sherlock still in place, eyes darting this way and that as he studied John as the blonde toyed with the ring and looked down at his boots, scuffing the floor with the toe of his boots. He stepped away to give Sherlock time to process everything he just said and analyze it anyway he liked. From the shear concentration on the brunette's face and the fact that his fingers were steepled underneath his chin told John that Sherlock was in his Mind Palace, thinking it through.

And then much sooner than he had though, Sherlock was on him, long legs wrapped firmly around his waist and arms around his neck as that beautiful nose skimmed along the taunt muscles of John's neck. "Yes, yes, _yes_ , oh God, _yes_!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock was delightfully happy, his mood lightened by John's words. John released a soft sigh, putting his arms around the smaller frame. As Sherlock nosed at his neck, John backed against the wall so he could support the brunette better. He tilted his head back to allow him access to his neck a bit better. The smaller man saw the chance, and he took it, clamping his teeth down on John's neck hard enough that he nearly broke skin.

John gasped, knees buckling under the shear pain and reassurance that Sherlock was giving him through the bite. "Jesus _fuck_ , Sherlock!" he whined, but he didn't bother trying to pull the wonderful mouth away.

Sherlock switched out the biting for sucking, and he sucked relentlessly on his neck. John gripped the sink and moaned. He kept himself braced against the wall, one hand sliding down to grope at Sherlock's arse as encouragement to suck even harder, to which the brunette did. Sherlock didn't pay attention to the pain in his jaw until it began to be too much for him to handle, and that's when he pulled away, lapping at the mark on his boyfriend's neck. That was going to be nice and purple soon, and it wasn't going to be going away anytime soon within the next week.

"Did you just claim me? Officially claim me?" John questioned between pants.

Sherlock nodded nervously, opening his mouth to pop his jaw, wincing lightly.

John turned around and pinned Sherlock to the wall, grinning. "Show me, Sherlock."

Sherlock unbuttoned the buttons on his shirt so he could push back the collar, tilted his head to the side, chin up. John didn't bite first, he sucked, sucked hard, turning the skin in his mouth a bright red. Once the color began to deepen, then he latched on, biting down just as hard as Sherlock did. A whimper mixed with a strangled moan slipped from the brunette's lips, echoing in the bathroom. John grabbed him by the back of his thighs, lifting him up when he started to slide down. John had more power in his bite than Sherlock did and he continued to add pressure until Sherlock was sobbing lightly. He pulled away and rubbed his thumb along the mark he just left, smearing spit across the creamy pale skin. It would turn darker quicker on Sherlock. John grinned. He traced the indentions on the mark on his neck. He let Sherlock down, pulling him into a long, deep kiss. John skimmed his lip piercing along his neck before closing his mouth around Sherlock's very willing one once more before he pulled away completely. He placed the promise ring in Sherlock's back pocket, just so he could have a reason to massage and need Sherlock's surprising fleshy arse.

The brunette turned a light shade of red, reaching into his pocket to take the ring. He studied again and slipped it onto his ring finger, the shade of red darkening on his cheeks. "Thank you, John..." he murmured as he fidgeted in his spot, leaning into him. "I'm really sorry I harmed you. Especially the black eye. It looks ugly as fuck, but you kind of pull off the bruises...It matches the style..."

"Well, at least I bloody match!" John said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, before pulling out his lighter and picking the blunt up from behind his ear. He lit it up and handed it to Sherlock. "Come on. Take at least two drags from this to...celebrate, I suppose."

Sherlock took the blunt, shaking his head with a small smile. "God, just this once," he said, eying John, who simply shrugged. He took a long drag, keeping an eye on John as he exhaled smoke from his nose. He shook his head as he looked at the blunt. He took one more long drag before handing it back. John finished the blunt, threw the butt away. Sherlock picked up his bag. "Let's go back to class." Sherlock buttoned up his shirt, rubbing out the wrinkles. The bitemark couldn't been hidden, not that Sherlock minded as he looked in the mirror at it.

John's would damn near impossible to hide with his V-neck, and even with his collar turned up on his vest, it couldn't be hidden. John stopped Sherlock before he unlocked the door. He gave a quick, hard jab, hitting Sherlock in the mouth, hard enough to bust his lip. The brunette was taken aback.

"What the hell was that for, shithead?" he demanded, wiping blood from his bottom lip and glaring at the blonde.

"For hitting me over a fucking experiment gone wrong, you little tart."

Sherlock glared again before unlocking the doors, returning John's knife and walking out, John right on his tail. They walked back their first period class, Sherlock still pissed off, and John looking a little more calm-dangerously calm. When they entered, two students have moved into their desks.

"Budge up, lads," John said coolly.

The two quickly got up as John shifted his knife from his vest to his boot. John and Sherlock sat down. After first period, the rest of the school day went smoothly. Sherlock's stroppy mood after the busted lip was gone, replaced by the typical smartarse mood he was in constantly. At lunch, Mycroft sat with Sherlock and John, and even Greg joined, sitting beside John as the older Holmes studied his little brother, especially the deep purple, black, and blue bitemarks. He ran his fingers over it, and he could feel the teeth marks left behind.

"Would you like to study mine before you get bitchy?" John asked sarcastically, showing his neck.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at John. "Belt up, you. I'll warn you, no harm is to come to my baby brother, understand. I'll have your throat," the older Holmes said, calmly.

John smirked. "Or I'll have yours, seeing as I have the guts to slit a throat."

Sherlock smacked John. "No slitting of my brother's throat. Mummy will disapprove of you then, and we don't want that, no?"

John rolled his eyes and sipped his water. Greg looked between the three and shrugged. He would be staying out of that matter-mainly because he liked his throat slit free and the blood pumping through his veins and not out of a major artery.

John and Mycroft where just simply glaring at each other across the table. John's was hard, serious, and downright _scary_ while Mycroft's was serious and made only to those he so wish would submit to him (Greg often found himself at the end of that glare and boy does he submit!). Neither of them were giving the other the satisfaction of backing down. Greg eventually got tired of all his boyfriend's attention on someone else, the blonde sighing softly and standing.

"Myc, can I blow you?" Greg said bluntly, shoulders slight slumped forward.

"Right now?" Mycroft replied, never looking away from John.

"If you stop this stupid glaring contest."

"Deal." He looked at his boyfriend and smiled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and kicked John in the leg, breaking the man's concentration. "Let it go."

John dropped his eyes and looked over Sherlock, kicking him back. From that moment, Sherlock deduced that their relationship would be very physical, whether it's constantly hitting each other, sexually, or just a bunch of touching of the arm or hand, it was going to be physically. It didn't really sound that bad as he turned that over his mind.

By the time school ended, it was a dead pour outside, coming down hard. John and Sherlock walked into the pouring rain hand in hand out to John's bike. Sherlock put on John's helmet and fastened it while John constantly wiped his face. The blonde swung his leg over. Sherlock felt a bit weird because he didn't have his bag, deciding to leave it in his locker so his books wouldn't get wet. John started his motorcycle, the engine roaring to life. He backed up out of the parking space he was in and head off. John actually went beneath the speed limit, but he still weaved in and out of traffic as he headed back to Baker Street. The blonde couldn't half see through the heavy rain, just being able to make out people to avoid hitting them and the headlights of cars. He parked his bike beside an older looking motorcycle while Sherlock got off and unlocked the door, John close behind him. Mycroft was already home, sipping tea on the couch. His dark hair was damp, and he was sitting in a pair of sweats and plain white T- Shirt.

"I see Greg's still here," Sherlock said, closing the door behind John and squeezing out his dark locks.

"Mummy refused to let him leave in this rain."

John snorted and mused his hair. He had gotten most of the excess water out of his hair and it was sticking up wildly. He used his arm to wipe his face then shrugged out of his vest to hang it up. Mrs. Holmes came in.

"Oh, I see you two are fine now, yes?"

Sherlock nodded, stripping off his coat and shirt.

"Go throw your clothing in the dryer, boys, with Mycroft's and Greg's. Strip right here if you please to avoid dripping water through my flat."

At that moment, Greg came into the living room, completely starkers, looking for a towel. Greg looked up and waved at John and Sherlock, unashamed at his current state of dress. John shrugged, kicking off his boots. At least, his socks managed to stay dry. He wanted to keep them dry, so he threw them onto the couch, smirking as Mycroft sent him another glare. Sherlock toed off his shoes, his socks not so lucky. He pulled down his trousers, pulling the knee high socks he wore underneath out of his trousers. John removed his shirt, taking the nonchalance in the room as a hint that this was quite normal. John didn't wear any pants, so it was quick to strip, having to lean against the door to peel his skinny jeans off his legs. He watched Sherlock drop his pants and kick them off. John gathered his soaked clothing, save for his vest, and followed Sherlock through the house to dump his clothes in the dryer. Greg followed them.

"I remember the first time I had to walk starkers around this flat. Awkward," he said casually and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because Mummy couldn't keep you and Mycroft off of each other, and you're still not smart enough leave clothes here for the occasion you get caught in the rain on your way here to drop off Mycroft."

John shrugged. "I really have no shame. If you feel shame when you have to show off comepletely, it's a sign that you hate your body, and me, I like mine just fine." He mused his hair again, giving it a wiry look to it.

Greg handed John a towel. "Here, mate."

John gladly took it and dried off, wrapping it around his waist. Sherlock used one that was hanging up, drying off with it. He pulled John back to his room. The blonde leaned against the door frame while the brunette dress like his brother, except even more comfortably in cotton pajama pants and no shirt. Mrs. Holmes tapped on John's shoulder and he stepped to the side.

"I noticed matching bitemarks. Someone like to tell me why?"

Sherlock fiddled with the promise ring on his finger and it didn't go unnoticed by his mother. She lifted up Sherlock's hand to study the feminine looking ring that suited him all too well.

"This is real silver, Sherlock." She raised her eyebrow. "Clearly something important happened."

"John asked me to be his boyfriend..." he said nervously, looking down.

His mother tutted. "With words or action?" she asked curiously.

"Well, his exact words were, 'Date me, Sherlock Holmes. Please give me the right to call you my boyfriend.' So it was more like demanding in a way that sounded like asking, and well, it's the reason he came into my room this morning and was going to ask me before I punched him in the face...twice."

"I see...You're not even wearing it on the right hand, son."

"My other hand it swollen, Mummy. I didn't realize I'd hit him so hard."

She tutted again, tapping her chin. "Keep your pecker up, son. Both of you go join Greg and Mycroft on the couch, _on the couch_ , and I'll make you boys a steaming cuppa. How do you like your tea, John?"

John shrugged. "Never had tea. Always either drink water or whatever alcoholic beverage is available." He gave a sheepish grin. "Apologies for not knowing."

She quirked an eyebrow, and Sherlock dragged John down stairs to the small couch. Greg was seated in Mycroft's lap, legs crossed sipping a strong cup of tea. John sat down beside Mycroft while Sherlock settled himself in John's lap, much like Greg did with Mycroft, except he stretched his legs out and propped them in Greg's lap. The blonde didn't seem fazed as he sipped his tea.

Mrs. Holmes came in with a steaming cuppa for Sherlock, and she handed a glass of scotch to John. Sherlock silently took his, long fingers brushing against her wrist in his usual _thank you for tea_. John thanked her aloud and. John took a sip and shivered.

"Straight scotch? Thank you."

"Hm, I figured the next time you're over, we can figure out how you like your tea."

John swirled the amber liquid with his finger, pushing around the ice before taking another sip. Sherlock tilted his head, as well as Mycroft. Mrs. Holmes smacked both boys in the back of the head.

"Don't even think about it, tarts. Don't go searching or anything. I made sure you boys can't find it."John chuckled and shifted, Sherlock bobbing slightly as John settled himself in the corner, listening to the rain. "I think I need a bigger couch. I don't particularly like this, you boys sitting in each other's laps."

"I think it's just fine, Mummy," Mycroft said, propping his feet on the coffee table, earning another smack and being told to get his feet down off the furniture.

"I also agree," Sherlock chimed in, nuzzling up against John as he handed his mother his empty cup.

"Nope, I've made my mind. I'm buying a larger couch," she hummed.

John _tsk_ ed. "Allow me, Mrs. Holmes. A new couch is expensive, and I very much can afford it."

"Oh, there's no need to, John. It's quite alright."

John shrugged. He was going to do it anyways. After the little argument over a bigger couch was done, they all lapsed into a comfortable silence. For a while, anyways. After twenty minutes the brothers went off to their shared room upstairs, their boyfriends in tow when Mrs. Hudson had stepped out to speak with the landlady. Mycroft and Greg had a nice shag on his side of the room, seeing as it may be weeks before they get the chance. John and Sherlock curled up together, both plugging their headphones into John's iPod to drown out that fact that Sherlock's older brother were fucking like animals just on the other side of the room. Mrs. Holmes knocked on the door, but neither couple were listening. She opened up the door and just enough to peak inside. She heard Mycroft and Greg, _Too vocal. Should throw a ball gag at them one of these days,_ she thought to herself. She studied Sherlock and John. Sherlock had shed his pajama pants and boxers, and John had dropped the towel and were curled up comfortably against one another in Sherlock's twin sized bed. It had been pushed against the wall so Sherlock wouldn't fall off. She could just barely hear the heavy metal that was coming from Sherlock's side of the bed. At least they weren't at it like animals. And for that, she thanked God, muttering that she couldn't deal with _both_ of her sons at it as she silently closed the door.

She headed back downstairs to do some thinking. Why did she not even bother trying to separate her sons from their boyfriends? she wondered to herself as she look out the window, down at the two bikes sitting outside 221b. Most mothers probably would have. Teenagers most certainly shouldn't having sex! Maybe that way, neither of her sons will try to sneak off to do it? Not that either would try. There was no way to miss the sound of a motorcycle pulling up in front of the flat. Especially Gregory's. That thing still needed to be fiddled with and fixed. A new muffler would fix half of that boy's problems right there. She sighed softly. Supposed she needed to get her boys checked, definitely Mycroft sooner than later.

She was definitely happy that the boys found love, though. From a very young age, they were distant from everyone else in the family, in the world really. They stayed by each other's side until their preteens when they developed a strong...She didn't know what it was. It wasn't quite _hatred_ they had towards each other. They still had each other's backs when needed. They were just cold to each other, and it was quite a normal thing, that when Sherlock is sick, he'll curl up in Mycroft's bed or at Mycroft's side on the couch, and it would completely shock the older brother for a while before he relaxed and tried to comfort his baby brother. All in all, she hoped John and Greg would bring out the best in her brilliant young sons.


	6. Chapter 6

John and Greg had spent the night with the Holmeses. Mycroft and Greg were out by twelve, leaving John and Sherlock in comfortable silence at last. The little lamp by his bed shone just enough for the brunette to study his significant other's body. He traced the snake tattoo. He followed its trail around his arm, and down his shoulder. He frowned as he prodded at the 3-D tattoo above his heart. It looked like the skin was torn, a rib poking out, bloody. The snake was coming from that hole. Interesting. He traced the outline of the hunting knife. Pushing back the blanket, his long fingers slide down as he took in the rest of his naked body. He started to trace the lovely V line but another tattoo caught his attention. On his waist, just a few inches above where his pants would be, on the right, said _And Beyond_ in cursive. He tapped it.

"Why do you have the back half of a Buzz Lightyear quote?" he asked softly, curiously.

John shrugged. "I want to take you to get the other half done on your left hip."

Sherlock smiled a bit and blushed. " _To Infinity and Beyond."_ Sherlock trailed his fingers along his own bony hip, imagining what it would look like with their hips connected. His smiled widened. "I want it," he said, looking up at John, those ever quick eyes, darting around John's face. "You're _so_ cheesy, John, really. It should be embarrassing."

"No one else has seen it, so..."

Sherlock pressed right up against John, resting his head on the punk's bicep. He pushed his knee in between John's legs and then shoved his leg the rest of the way through. Fingers carded through his curls, a shiver running through his body. He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, perfectly comfortable like this, pressed against the warm body of his boyfriend, fingers combing through his hair, and a soft hum to lull hum to sleep. He yawned and nuzzled John's chest, bringing his arms against his own and letting John wrap fully around his smaller frame. And then he was snoring quietly, sleeping more peacefully than he had in the last three years.

t(-_-)t

The rain was still coming down hard in the morning. All four boys were very much still asleep. Mrs. Holmes pushed open the door, four sets of clothes on hangers in her hand. She hung them on a hook and knocked loudly on the door, startling the teenagers, and Greg actually fell out of bed, groaning

"Come on, boys! It's a new day! Up, up, up!" she said in a sing song voice.

John groaned and pressed Sherlock closer to the wall, stilling and closing his eyes again. Greg did the same when he climbed back into the bed with Mycroft, yawning.

"Up, up, up!" Mrs. Holmes chanted over and over again until the four were sitting up and glaring at the woman. "Don't give me those looks. I've your clothes, clean and pressed, hanging up on this hook. Get dressed, get ready, whatever you say, and then come down for breakfast.

"Mrs. Holmes, it's _pouring_ outside. Too harder to drive in and I'd rather not take the chance on my duff of a bike," Greg whined.

John raised his finger. "I second that motion." He let his hand drop with a smack against his leg.

"Why don't you just catch a cab then?"

" _Ugh."_ came the collective noise of a _hell no_.

Mycroft stood up, scratching his chest. He stepped off his bed. "Mummy, you simply want us out of the flat," he said.

"Well, yes. Cleaning is much easier alone than when four nasty boys are around. Son, you need a shower, and quite frankly is smells like sex in here. You and Gregory have ten minutes to take a shower and get out." Mycroft huffed and nodded, towing along a still somewhat asleep Greg behind him. Mrs. Holmes turned to Sherlock and John. "You two, dress and at the table. Need to put some ice on those bruises, especially you, John. That eye is swollen shut."

John shrugged. "It's nothing I haven't had before."

"I'm trusting you with my boy's life on that bike, now. Everyone has heard how you drive."

"In this rain?" John scoffed. "Forgive me if I sound rude, but I'm more careful in heavy rain like this. Can't see a damn thing. Think it's bad in a car? Don't have windshield wipers, and besides. Sherlock wears my helmet to keep that nice brain safe." Sherlock turned a bright shade of red. "I only drive reckless when the streets are dry and it's not raining."

"That's not very comforting," she said, turning her back. "Anyways, clothes, table."

John was about to get up, but Sherlock pulled him down into the bed. The brunette smiled and brushed his lips across John's, deliberately catching on to the piercing and pulling it, dragging out a low moan from John. He connected their lips in a fierce kiss, pierced tongue darting out to part those pretty pink lips Sherlock owned. The brunette parted his lips to allow that skilled tongue into his mouth. John adjusted so he was on top of the smaller body, settled between those beautifully long legs. John's hand slid down his side and up his thigh, resting on the back of his knee. Sherlock moaned into the kiss, and he managed to capture the blonde's bottom lip in between his teeth, causing John to shudder.

He slowly pulled away, looking up at his boyfriend. A thin line of saliva connected their lips, and John leaned down to kiss Sherlock again, this time more gentle and tender. He cupped his face with his right hand, thumb brushing across his cheek. They pulled away completely at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

John looked up to see Mycroft and Greg looking quite amazed down at them. Sherlock hid his face in John's chest. The four of them got dressed and headed downstairs, each of them taking a seat at the small table. Mrs. Holmes sat a plate down in front of each of the boys. She passed out mugs with letters on them. After a moment, John realized the letter corresponded with first names. 'G' for Greg, 'M' for Mycroft, 'S' for Sherlock. A mug was put in front of him, 'J' for John. He sniffed at the liquid.

"That one is strong. Tell me what you think of it," she said, turning around to clean the pans she used to fix breakfast.

John took a small sip, face curled up in displeasure. He swallowed, Greg laughing at him behind his mug. "No, ma'am, strong is not for me." He took a bite of his breakfast to wash away the horrid taste.

Mrs. Holmes _tsk_ ed. "That's how Greg takes his tea." She went to take the mug away, but John put a gentle hand on her wrist.

"No, no. Leave it. I'll drink the rest. No need to waste it. We'll try something a bit sweeter next time, yeah?" John said with a smile, it just slightly marred by his swollen face.

She tutted as John pulled his hand away and continued to eat. She pressed an ice pack to John's eyes, the boy wincing as she applied pressure. "I know you two are going to be stubborn sods and not put the damn ice packs on your face, so I suppose I'll do it for you both."

John rolled his eye. He was first of the four to finish his plate, so he sat there and sipped his mug of tea while the woman held the stupid ice pack to his face. John grumbled under his breath when she moved on to Sherlock. Well, his eye was still pretty swollen, but it wasn't as bad. At least he could get a small slit of light to it. It twitched horribly though. Sherlock whined against the cold item and tried to push his mother away, but she was having none of that. She held her son's head still, adding pressure in certain spots to make Sherlock think twice about thrashing around.

"I can fix your bike, Greg," John said casually. "We can do that today. We'll be out of the flat, and we'll have a fresh change of clothes, if you don't mind old, ripped skinny jeans."

Greg pushed his empty plate forward. "Mm, that sounds like a plan."

"Mummy, can we go?" Sherlock said, looking at his older brother and then up at his mother.

Mrs. Holmes sighed. "Fine. You boys can go, but please, for the love of God, _be careful_."

John nodded absentmindedly. He stood and put his plate in the sink, washing it. He pushed his chair back up to the table and went to find his sock. Greg did the same, and eventually, the brothers join. Greg, Sherlock, and Mycroft picked up helmets. Mrs. Holmes frowned.

"And you, sir. Where is your helmet?"

John pointed at Sherlock. "I only have to one. I'll invest in another eventually, maybe."

John and Greg picked up their keys. The drug dealer grabbed his vest and shrugged it on. The door was opened and there was a collective groan as it was raining even _harder_. John was the first out the door, all too used to riding in the pouring rain. He started his bike and pushed it off onto the rode. Greg struggled to get his bike to crank up. After a few well placed kicks it roar loudly to life-much louder than it should have. John's could be considered quiet compared to Greg's hunk of junk.

"How the hell is that even safe to ride?" John yelled.

Greg shrugged. "It isn't!"

The brothers took their seats behind their boyfriends and held on tight. Sherlock buried his face as John sped off to beat the incoming traffic. Greg followed a little slower. He weaved in between cars to catch up with John. Mycroft dug his fingers into Greg's stomach.

"Must you preform such dangerous actions to catch up?" the other asked.

Greg laughed as he slowed down until he was diagonal of John in their lane. "My, as soon as this hunk of junk is fixed and it's no longer wet, I'm going to show you how you _really_ ride a motorcycle."

"I dread the day."

Half way down the hill, Greg's bike knocked off, the blonde crying out in frustration. Luckily, he could just cruise the rest of the way to John's secret little house. John parked inside the garage and switched off. He flipped on the lights and unlocked the door. The brothers went in, Sherlock leading the way. John was studying Greg's bike. He fiddled around with it.

"Brother, some of the parts needed are gonna have to be ordered. I can get the parts within three hours."

"Anything I can do to help."

"Yeah, your coming with me. Just let me get them some clothes and we'll be on our way."

John went inside while Greg fooled around and looked at John's bike. John went down the hall to a bathroom grabbing two towels for the shivering boys in the living room. He went and gave them to them, then went to the laundry room and dug out some warm joggers that were much too long for John. After finding two sets of clothes, he pulled down a thick blanket and brought them down stairs.

"Here you gentlemen are. I'm taking Greg to the part store. You tell no one of this place, and don't break anything. Deal, yes?"

Mycroft and Sherlock nodded as they dried off. John picked up the helmet Sherlock wore locking and closing the door behind him. Sherlock listened to John's bike start up. He dried his hair and stropped off his wet clothing, dropping them on his towel. He put on the clothes John had left out, surprised that they were long enough considering John's height. In the waist they were too big. He pulled the strings tight and tied them so they'd fit. He picked up the towel of clothes and wondered around until he found the laundry room, dumping them into the empty dryer. Mycroft followed him and dropped them in, turning them on.

"This is a nice little place here..." Mycroft trailed off, going back to the sitting room.

Sherlock flopped down on the couch, pulling the blanket over him. Mycroft joined him underneath the blanket. The two huddled close. "Yeah. John said he paid for everything and moved it in himself. He doesn't really want anyone to know where this place is. Especially his parents. This is his safe haven. Sort of like the library for you in your time of wanting peace."

Mycroft nodded. "I understand why. It's on a road no one lives on. It's...comfortable. Doesn't look at all like a punk drug dealer lives here."

"He's actually very nice, brother. He's...gentle."

"When he's not punching you in the face?" the elder questioned sarcastically.

Sherlock weakly shoved his brother. "No, I swung first."

It was quiet between the two for a moment. "I'm sorry I doubted John, little brother. He's a total arse when needed, I understand."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"He broke someone's nose and then fixed yours."

"And you said Mummy shouldn't approve," Sherlock teased.

Mycroft frowned. "Theoretically, she shouldn't. He's still bad news, Sherlock. You're going to get hurt some way or another."

Sherlock sighed and pulled the cover up to his shoulders. "Thank you, Mycroft Holmes, for being as supportive as ever," he spat acidly. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe John is _good_ for me? I crave adventure and danger, and here comes John Watson kicking his feet up into my life. Danger, no boredom." He sat up straighter. "Not to mention the fact that he's given me the love I need just like Gregory did to you. Why do you think we hit it off so well?"

Mycroft shrugged. Sherlock did have very good points. He just couldn't shake that feeling that Sherlock was going to get hurt in this relationship. It was a feeling deep down in his gut. Maybe it was just his need to protect his baby brother, maybe it was just because he didn't like what John did for a living. He just wasn't sure. He waited until his brother slumped back down to curl up against him, resting his head on his shoulder and sighing softly.

"So this is where you were when you skipped school?"

Sherlock hummed.

"You know, I was still on the line the entire time."

Sherlock turned a dark shade of red. He glared down at his brother, silently telling him to shut it. Mycroft chuckled and patted the younger's leg.

t(-_-)t

The rain had stopped by the time John and Greg got back. The boys were still soaked to the bone. John unlocked the door to find the brothers curled up against one another fast asleep. He beckoned Greg into the door, grinning. He took out his phone and snapped a picture.

"They're so peaceful and angelic looking when they're asleep," Greg said as he began to strip out of his clothes.

"Yeah," John said, going to the laundry room and sorting through the clothes to find something he and Greg could work in. He found two pairs of boot cut blue jeans and two grease covered tank tops. _Good enough_ , he thought to himself as he took a towel to Greg and handed him a set of clothes.

The sound of the dryer beeping is what woke the boys up from their light slumber on the couch. They sat up and rubbed their eyes. Sherlock grinned lazily.

"Find what you need?"

"Naturally," John said, drying off and changing. He went to the laundry room to take Sherlock's and Mycroft's clothes out the dryer and put his and Greg's in to dry. He folded the clothes neatly and returned them to their owners.

Sherlock stood and stretched, going out into the garage. He found a chair and settled in it. Mycroft settled in a chair.

"Nothing fun is gonna be going on over here," Greg said.

"Just two men fussing over a bike," John said, squatting down to take a look.

Greg and John began to take apart the bike, both of them spewing curses when something wouldn't come off. They would go rummaging around for a new tool, then a satisfied _ah_ wh _e_ n it came off. Both of then were sweat and grease covered. John wiped sweat from his brow, smearing grease on his face. Greg had streaks of geese through his blond hair.

They were both a rather attractive sight. John didn't look up from the work he was doing on the engine. "Hey, loser," he said, glancing up to look at Sherlock, but both brothers turned to look at him with the same expression. "Or either one of you, since you both answered. Bring out a couple bottles of water from the fridge, yeah?" Sherlock got up and went inside. Mycroft frowned and John laughed. "Calm your dick. I'll figure out a new nickname for you too, loser. Or should I say _looser?"_ Greg smacked John in the back of the head.

"Oi! You're not that funny," the other blonde said lightly.

"Actually, it was very funny. But seriously. I'm gonna have to come up with a nickname for him."

Sherlock came out and tossed both Greg and John a bottle of water. "What about Ice Man?" Sherlock suggested with a smirk.

John shook his head. "Nope. Don't like the sound of it."

"What's wrong with my name?" Mycroft said with a pout.

"It's your name. I'll think of something eventually."

Four hours later, John and Greg were done. They were picking up their helmets.

"Gonna go take it out for test drive," John said, putting on his helmet. Once Greg was seated in front, John swung his leg over. "We're gonna push it," he said to Greg once he started it up. John got off for moment, put a few tools in his front pockets and went to grab his phone before getting back on. John wasn't quite settled when Greg took off, but John didn't struggle like most people would have. He easily right himself and shoved at Greg's shoulder as they sped off on the now dry road.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "Quite attractive covered in grease and sweat."

"Yes, quite," Mycroft quickly agreed, glancing at the younger.

John and Greg were gone for about twenty minute, both wide eyed and panting hard. Greg and John high fived, laughing. Sherlock and Mycroft both raised their eyebrows.

"I assume you've fixed it?"

"Hell yeah, it's fixed. There's no way we could outrun Five-O before."

Mycroft sat up straight. "You _fled_ from the _law_?"

John nodded. "Yep. Had to push the bike to it's limits _somehow_ and the cops just happened to be in the area."

John fiddled with the bike a bit more before wiping his hands on a towel slung over a tool cart. Sherlock and Mycroft just stared at their boyfriends, both literally dripping sweat and covered with grease.

"What?" both blondes said.

The brothers shook their heads, going back inside. John and Greg followed. "There's a bathroom with a shower three doors down on your left. Towels and flannels are in the closet on your right. I'm going to the one upstairs."

"How many bathrooms does this house have?" Greg asked.

"Three and a half."

Greg whistled, heading off in the direction John had pointed him in. Mycroft followed behind him lazily. Sherlock followed John to the bathroom upstairs-the one that was in the room he'd napped in the first time he came over. John closed the bedroom door. Sherlock pulled out his phone.

"Hold still, John," he said as he opened up his camera.

John turned around to see Sherlock holding up his phone. He stuck his tongue out, and Sherlock though it made the look hotter. He took a few pictures and shoed John off to the shower. He followed him into the bathroom and sat on the counter, watching John strip away his soiled clothing. John left the door open so he could have a proper conversation with Sherlock.

"I think you look attractive covered in grease like that..." Sherlock trailed off. "Greg does too."

John chuckled as he wet his face and put a little soap on his hands. He scrubbed his hands clean before picking up face wash and scrubbing his face clean. "Attractive? What's attractive about dirt? It clogs your pours and feels awful once it's dry."

"Something do with those nice muscles flexing and how it accentuates them. "

John scrubbed his hair. "Well, why pay mechanic when you can do it yourself for free-Well, almost free anyways. Parts still cost a few dime bags and a couple of pounds."

Sherlock chuckled. He watched as John scrubbed his skin red. His eyes roamed over ever inch of John's body he could see. He could just barely see part of a back tattoo. A closer look and a questioning grunt from John, and Sherlock could tell that it was a pair of wings. No feathers so demonic. Tattered. _Watson_ was in the middle of those tattered demon wings.

"What are the wings? What do they represent?"

John shrugged. "My family," he said. "Its sort of like an inside joke, so to say. It was Mum's idea. My sister, father and mother have it. Some highly religious woman said she could see the devil's wings across my family's name. And it's also supposed to be intimidating."

"Interesting," Sherlock murmured, going back to his place on the counter.

John rinsed and turned the water off. He picked up a towel and began the process of drying himself. He went into the bedroom to grab pants out of a drawer. Sherlock pressed himself right up against his boyfriend, inhaling the fresh scent of strawberries and mango. John turned around in his arms, pushing him against the bed. He pulled down the collar of the shirt the brunette was wearing, showing off that nice bruise he'd left on his neck. Sherlock stiffened when he felt his thumb caress over the area. Blood rushed straight down at the hungry look John held in his eyes. He watched as a mental fight went on behind those beautiful eyes. The blonde leaned in, letting his pierced tongue rub against the sore patch of skin. The brunette moaned in a pleasured pain. John then latched his mouth around the area, sucking on it. Sherlock was glad the bed was behind him because he's knees gave up on him, and he laid back against the soft bed, John's tongue flicking just right against the bruise. He turned a beat red when his prick twitched the soft cotton joggers. The blonde pushed him up further on the bed. He climbed on top of the smaller body, distributing his weight.

"What are you-?" Sherlock started when his boyfriend dug out a bottle of lube.

"Shut up and relax," John said. He pushed up the shirt, exposing smooth, pale skin. He ran his tongue over his happy trail. He left small bite marks and love bites behind as he made his way down to Sherlock's very prominent erection. "Gonna take care of ya." He pulled down the joggers just enough for Sherlock's hard on to spring free.

John took Sherlock into his mouth, taking him deep in his throat. He swallowed around him a few good time, just to feel the brunette buck into his mouth. Feeling the head hit the back of his throat a few times, he sat up, pinning those sharp hips down with his body weight. John himself was hard, but his main focus was on the beautiful boy that lay somewhat exposed to him. He opened up the bottle of lube, drizzling it on Sherlock's throbbing prick. He firmly wrapped his hand around him slowly pulling up and down. On each up stroke, he squeezed the head, and each down stroke, he rubbed his thumb generously against the tip, and he watched the brunette fall apart. He settled in between Sherlock's parted legs to allow him to buck into his hand.

Sherlock gripped the bed sheet tightly in his hands. John would squeeze every so often, the friction unbelievably good. And then he would loosen his grip and make him whine, and that's when he'd tighten his grip again, and _oh fuck,_ it was wonderful! John had Sherlock spilling in a matter of minutes. Sherlock was swimming in white as he slowly came down from his high. It was then that he head John's own strangled moans and felt warmth drip down his belly. A blush set in when he realized that John had relieve himself of his erection as well. John slipped off to the bathroom, grabbing his wash cloth to clean Sherlock up. He nosed that smooth stomach, chuckling as it grumbled at him.

"Hungry?" he asked, tongue lapping at the smooth skin.

"Mm, yes. Just a bit. It's nearly supper time," Sherlock murmured, brushing fingers through John's damp hair.

"I suppose I'll get you home, then." John sat up digging up some sweats and a V-neck. He dressed and stretched.

Sherlock pulled up joggers and followed John out. Mycroft and Greg were settled on the couch underneath the blanket (John didn't want to know if something went on under there). Mycroft and Greg were back in their own clothing, the set they'd borrowed folded up neatly on the loveseat. Sherlock put his own clothes back on, copying his older brother and folding them up neatly.

"I know a back way back to Baker Street," John said casually, picking up his keys.

This sparked Greg's interest. "Oh, do you now?"

John hummed. "Hardly anybody's on those roads..."

"Lead the way," Greg said with a grin, picking up his helmet.

The brothers looked at each other curiously. Back way? Why a back way? Greg and John pushed their bikes out of the garage. John fist bumped Greg.

"Hope you can keep up, bitch," John said as he started up his bike.

"Alright, you little shit. Let's see what this baby can do."

John revved the engine as Sherlock got on hesitantly. Mycroft looked between the boys before slowly getting on behind Greg.

"Hang on, baby!" Greg shouted over his should.

There was a feel of energy and excitement from the drivers, and feel of absolute dread from the riders. But as John started to count down and both boys revved their engines, and overwhelming sense of competition enveloped all four of them. On one, they shot off. They were wide open on the road. The headed straight on the main road, weaving dangerously in between cars. John gave a thumbs down as they past an officer John knew was on his payroll. The officer had turned his lights on, and then turned them back off. He wouldn't have been able to catch them anyways. Not in heavy traffic like this. They made a sharp left onto an empty road. Greg had caught up and was riding beside and slowly starting to pass him.

"To your right!" John yelled out.

A quick glance around, and Greg turned right. John then had then shot right on by Greg. Sherlock was digging his nails what would be painfully into John's stomach, but the burst of adrenaline kept him from feeling a thing. John held up his hand and slowly applied the breaks. Greg did the same. They stopped at a stop sign, Greg taking off his helmet, panting in excitement.

"I haven't been able to ride like that since I got this thing!" he yelled over the sound of the engines.

John grinned and nodded. He pushed his bike forward. Greg put his helmet on and followed suit. "Take it slow through here! Kids!" The two slowly made their way through the small neighbor hood. The more so pushed their motorcycles than rode them through. Once they were through, it was wide open again until the reached the side road that ran up to Baker Street. They coasted down to 221B, popping up onto the sidewalk and switching off their bikes. Mrs. Holmes came to the door, frowning.

"You boys could have had them back in time for supper!" she scolded.

"Sorry, Mrs. Holmes," John and Greg said, grinning.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "What were you boys up to?" she asked when she heard the sound of police sirens.

 _"Shite!"_ Greg and John exclaimed as they wound the corner.

"Five-O. Gotta go!" John said, taking the helmet from Sherlock. Greg put his back on. "Can't be going to jail now, eh."

"Brother, that's my father's cruiser. Imma out run him anyways."

"Your Dad? He can just beat you when he gets home."

"Not if I beat him. Come on, John. _Move your fucking arse!"_

The two barely got off I love you's before the started up and sped off. The brothers watched as a large group of police cars zoomed by. Mycroft pushed Sherlock against the door roughly, but playfully. "What the _hell_ did you get my boyfriend into?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. " _Don't look at me!"_

"That was certainly thrilling, a serious adrenaline rush. I'm still shaking," Mycroft mused, stepping inside and holding up his hand.

"As well, brother." Sherlock grinned and he and Mycroft headed into the kitchen took their seats.

Mrs. Holmes didn't bother questioning. Obviously they were doing some high risk driving to have four cars chasing after them.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, yeah. This was a bit more painful than he anticipated. Yeah, _ow_. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand, who was looking down at him with a shit eating grin.

"Shut up, arsehole," Sherlock grumbled, looking away from the man currently doing his tattoo.

"I didn't say anything," John said, still grinning.

"You were thinking. It's annoying. Anyways, _how_ am I getting this tattoo underage?" Sherlock asked, turning sharp eyes back to John.

"Rick here," John said, tapping the man's shoulder. "Rick here works for my family. Doesn't question, just does what he's asked for."

Rick looked up, hard green eyes surveying the smaller teenager. "Keeps me alive, and I get paid twice than what I do here." He turned to John. "By the way, your Mum wants you to get yourself a helmet before you kill yourself on that bike."

John tilted his head. "She was in? When?"

"Yesterday."

"I thought she was in France with Dad."

Rick shrugged, turning back to his work. "The sod's dead now going on four days now. Drive by in France, stray bullet to the chest."

John released Sherlock's hand and took a few steps bad, shock crossed his face before hard anger set in. He scoffed and took a few more steps back. Rick stilled as he wiped away at the tattoo. Sherlock stiffened when Rick stilled. The atmosphere darkened in the tattoo shop. And then John burst into laughter, cold, hard laughter. "And she didn't bother ringing me!? The greedy bitch. She _knows_ what Dad's death means! Stupid bitch...Tryna keep all the money to herself."

Rick nodded. "That's your Mum for you."

"The only reason she doesn't want me dead is because the cartel is too fucking huge for her to run on her own. Mean's I gotta step up." John had taken out his knife and was waving it around angrily, threatening to throw it at something. "Means I'm putting him in danger! _Arg! You son of a **bitch**!" _ John threw the knife at a dart board with deadly accuracy, hitting the bull's eye on the mark. _"Son of a fucking bitch!"_

Sherlock was unsure of how to react. He's seen John angry before, but this was a whole new level. There was nothing but pure _hatred_ in his eyes as he paced back and forth. The people in the parlor grew quiet. The music had even cut off. The only sound there was, was the clicking on John's riding boots as he paced across the hard surface. His breathing was labored as he tried to calm himself.

"That's great, this is wonderful. Absolutely fucking _brilliant_. Not only am I stepping up, I'm risking my boyfriend. Can't do that, can't do that..." he murmured to himself. He jerked his knife from the dart board and began to twirl it between his fingers. "Kill, kill, kill. That's all I'll be doing, knowing the trouble he got into. Can't risk him. Nope, can't do that..."

Sherlock watched as his boyfriend pace and muttered, throw his knife at someone, miss, pick it up, and repeat the cycle. His jaw was set, blue eyes hard as steel. John stalked back over to Rick. "Done?"

"Yes, John. What are you planning?"

John shrugged, picking up his keys from Sherlock's lap. "Nothing too hard. Just gonna take down the entire cartel. I'm not risking his life."

Rick took a step back. "How the hell are you gonna do that?!"

John twirled his knife. "Cut off the head of the snake. Then cut off the tail, then the middle. You can't function correctly without the queen and her guard dogs."

"John, you'll get yourself killed," Rick said, putting a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Take a deep breath. Think this shit through. Just go with the flow of things right now. Work your way up to power without her knowing. Think, boy, think. You go on that whack ass plan you made up, you're definitely putting him and his family in danger...I can get you eyes and ears on what's going on."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths through his mouth and exhaling through his nose until he was calm. He sat down beside Sherlock, handing him his helmet. He took out his wallet and was about to pay Rick, but he shook his head.

"Nah, this one's on me, man. Stay safe, kid. _Don't do anything stupid."_

John signed and ran his fingers through his hair. He and Sherlock were only two and a half months into their relationship. John was beyond frustrated at this point. Sherlock stood, stretching. He brushed his fingers along the red puffy area on his left hip. He pulled John against him and lifted up the blonde's shirt. John's eyes trailed down that flat stomach and sharp hip bones, studying the ink on his hip.

"To infinity," Sherlock said, pressing John to say the rest.

John chuckled, relaxing more, his shoulders dropping. "And beyond," he said with a chuckled. Sherlock pulled his shirt on.

Rick chuckled. "Wait, wait, wait." He pulled Sherlock's shirt up and pushed him back into the chair.

Sherlock frowned. "What are you doing?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Adding Buzz's wing..." he murmured, caught up in the idea as he set to worked.

Sherlock instantly reached out for John's hand again, and squeezed it as he let out a few grunts. John watched Rick with a small smile at the extra art. When he finished with Sherlock, he told John to sit and push his shirt up so he could do the other half of the set of wings. Sherlock pouted when John didn't flinch or anything. John rolled his eyes and Rick, he grinned when his work was done.

"Thanks, Rick," John said. "I didn't think my cheesiest tattoo couldn't get any cheesier."

Rick chuckled and sent them on their way. John held Sherlock's hand as they walked out. The brunette put the helmet on and got on behind John. He scooted much closer than he normally did and hugged John tightly. The blonde chuckled and patted his arm.

"John, I lovey you," the brunette said, somewhat nervously and he laid his helmet clad head on John's back.

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I love you too. Hang on tight, loser," he said, letting out a soft breath of air as Sherlock's arms tightened around him. John pushed off into traffic after starting up the bike and sped off. By now, Sherlock was used to reckless way John drove. It sent a shiver down his spine when the come so close to grazing a side mirror on a car. Sherlock bathed in the energy coming from John as they rode. John jerked in front of a car, chuckling as he was honked at. He slowed down to a stop in the middle of the road.

"What are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked, loosening his arms to look at John.

"What I do best," he said casually.

Sherlock shook his head slowly and tightened his arms. John laughed and sped off. He earned some very rude gestures and curses. Sherlock closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride as John began to slow down to a reasonable speed. He opened his eyes as they pulled up to a store.

"Need to gas up," John said, getting off and stretching. "Come on. Want something?"

Sherlock shook his head, but followed John into the store, helmet held tightly in his hand and he held on to John's shirt. John put an arm around him as he bought a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of water, and paid for gas. He made small talk with the clerk for a few minutes before he headed back out to his bike to fill up. Sherlock sipped lazily from the bottle while John hummed. Couple of minutes later, they were ready to head down the road.

"Anywhere in particular you want to go?" John asked before starting up his bike.

Sherlock shook his head. "Anywhere is fine with me, John."

The blonde's lip curled into a half smile. "I like the way my name sounds falling from your lips. It's so smooth and elegant." He chuckled. "I'll take you home."

He felt Sherlock shrug and hold on tight to him. He drove off at a reasonable speed at first. Sherlock closed his eyes once again, listening to the sound of John's happy laughter, the roar of the engine, honking of horns.

John rounded a corner, heading through a child friendly neighborhood. Kids were playing in the street and he applied the breaks...Well...tried to. They didn't work. John swore under his breath and cut through an alleyway to avoid running over kids. He ended up back on the main road. John could see the front of a big wheeler at the end of the alleyway. He began to panic. He was going far to fast to be able to cruise to a stop. A look down at the speedometer said he was going well over 180. Calmly, John spoke.

"Sherlock, I love you," he said.

"I love you too, John."

John gripped the bars tighter. "I need you to let go. Don't question me. Just do it. Now, Sherlock, now!"


	8. Broken Little Lion

The urgency in John's voice worried him, but he did as he was told. He let go of John, the blonde slinging him off. He howled as he went skidding painfully along the pavement. Luckily, he had a helmet, so he wasn't beat up too bad. He took it off to see clearly why John had slung him off. He couldn't properly see, he was so disoriented, but he heard the sound of metal grinding against pavement, John's blood curdling screams, and then it stopped. Sherlock panicked and made a clumsy dash down the alleyway. Hyped up on adrenaline, he didn't feel the pain he should as he didn't bother looking both ways before running over to his was just barely conscious, trying to yell in order to keep himself awake. Sherlock slid to John's side.

"John! What the hell?!" he said, looking over where they were. "Stay with me, John. Keep talking to me, baby. What happened?" Sherlock pulled out his phone, calling in the emergency at hand. John's eyes were fluttering close. Sherlock patted his face. "Come on, John. Talk to me. What happened?"

Sherlock tried to swallow his fear as he saw blood dripping from the back of John's head. Calm and collective, but urgent, he called in the emergency with a shaky snarl. He didn't mean for it to come out like that, as the woman at the end of the line gasped. When she confirmed help was en route, he hung up. John was still fading, when he finally spoke up.

"Kay? You okay?" Blue eyes widened in an attempt to stay open.

Sherlock chuckled, biting his lower lip. No, he was not okay. Not in the slightest. John was in critical condition and he himself was seriously bleeding from his elbows, knees and other various places that were not of his concern at the moment. John's eyes started to close again. Sherlock patted his face again.

"Stay with me, John. What happened?"

John coughed up a blood, shaking hand reaching up to touch Sherlock's face. "Brakes...Check em."

Sherlock frowned. Brakes? John was bleeding out from the back of his head and he was worried about the fucking _brakes_?"

Sherlock tried to keep John awake, but he was failing to keep him there. The sound of sirens graced them with their presence just as John's eyes closed. An ambulance was there, though they seemed to pay more attention to the brunette rather than the teenager laying unconscious on the pavement. Sherlock refused attention and tried to direct their attention to John.

"Get the _fuck_ off me. _He_ needs the fucking help, nitwits!" Sherlock snarled, showing the men he wasn't in a gaming mood.

They quickly got to work on John. Sherlock called Greg, struggling to pull John's bike out of the road. He let his voice go then as Greg answered, thick with fear and full of urgency. In minutes, he heard Greg's father yelling at him and the sound of his bike roaring to life.

"Sherlock, don't move, yeah? I'm on my way."

Sherlock returned to the mess on the pavement. They were emptying John's pockets, dropping his phone, knife, a gun Sherlock didn't know he had, and his cigarettes into a container in which they took with them. More paramedics came to him after loading John up and getting him more or less stable. This time, Sherlock allowed them to tend to the torn flesh on his arms. Greg must have been flying because he was there minutes after Sherlock called, throwing his bike down with little regard and threw his helmet down. He didn't even bother switching off his bike.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" Greg demanded, grabbing the boy by his face, thumbing some of the blood off his cheek.

Sherlock simply stared in front of him. He balled up his shaking hands and tried not cry, nearly failing. He stood there, still, even as they cut away his pants leg to get a good look at Sherlock's skinned legs. They cleaned him up, bandaged him up, and left him be. A few tears made their way down his long face. Greg's bottom lip trembled. To see a Holmes shed a single tear was heart breaking. The blonde grabbled a hold of the brunette's arms, shaking him as the tears really came.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, Sherlock, it's okay. It's okay," he said, pulling that long form against him and allowing the boy to bury his face into his neck and cry. He rocked him and rubbed his back. "I'll take you home."

Sherlock shook his head and immediately regret it, his head throbbing in defiance for the action. "D-d-don't wa-wanna," he gasped.

Greg picked up the helmet off the ground and he put it on Sherlock's head. "Come on. Let's just ride, alright?"

Sherlock shook his head again and took the helmet off. On shaking legs, he walked over to the bike he managed to pull to the side. Greg followed him. "J-John said something b-bout the b-brakes..."

Greg got down on the ground. He lifted up the scratched up hunk of metal onto it's wheels, sighing as the kickstand had come clean up. Greg examined the bike, grimacing as hot oil leaked over his hand, which he wiped on his jeans. He carefully sorted through things until he could get to the brakes, frowning. He snorted to himself, sitting back on his heels. He looked up at the brunette.

"Brakes, Sherlock. The brakes didn't work. They've been sabotaged. Someone took advantage of John's frankly unsafe driving and tampered with the brakes. He goes well over a hundred, yeah?" Sherlock nodded. "Applying brakes going that fast does some serious wear and tear. Some just helped them along to being rubbish." Greg pushed himself up off the ground and went to Sherlock. He put the helmet back on his head. "Sherlock, we're going for a ride. We're going for a ride. Come one."

Greg lead Sherlock to his own bike, lifting it up. He picked up his helmet and put it on. He waited for Sherlock, who reluctantly threw his leg over. It felt different from John's, and it took him a minute to get situated, eventually just pressing himself up against Greg's back and holding onto his waist tightly with a shudder. Greg made sure he was on tight before he drove off. Sherlock didn't pay much attention to where they were going. Greg hadn't offered a place. He didn't speak to him, letting him gather himself. Sherlock's head was throbbing and the pain in his arms and legs were starting to set in, causing him to dig his nails into Greg's skin. He blinked when they slowed to a stop. A stop sign. Greg made a left onto the main road. He didn't weave, didn't speed, showed no signs of urgency.

Sherlock sighed as he began to relax a bit. Greg was cruising. When they came to a red light, the blonde looked over his shoulder. "Better?"

Sherlock simply shrugged in a noncommittal gesture. That was better than no answer. The rode around for an hour until Greg casually pulled up into the hospital. He parked and got off after Sherlock. He pushed the brunette against the car behind him. Sherlock took his helmet off as Greg did, hanging it on the handle bar.

"Look at me, Sherlock Holmes." He ducked his head to catch misty blue eyes. Sherlock took a shuddering breath and let it out. "John's okay. He's gonna be okay. Tough son of a bitch." He put a hand on the back of Sherlock's head, musing those famous curls.

Greg walked with Sherlock inside with a firm hand on his back. He walked him right up to the desk, tapping the hard surface to get someone's attention. A lady took a seat and smiled at the distraught teenager and his friend. "Yes, boys?"

"John Watson. We'd like to know how he's doing," Greg said flatly, urging the woman to speak quickly.

The woman went wide eyed. "Sorry, sorry. He's under police watch right now. I can't send."

"Open the damn door!" Sherlock snapped harshly, tears threatening to spill again.

The woman jumped back and stuttered. "I-I'm sorry, I-I can't do that!"

Greg held back Sherlock, gripping him tight in his arms before he does anything stupid. "Sherlock, Sherlock, calm down. I'll call Da. I'll get him to escort us in, alright? Calm down."

With a tight grip on Sherlock, he reached into his pocket for his phone. He held his phone in front of Sherlock's face. It rang four times before it was answered. "Gregory Lestrade! Son, you're in-"

He put the phone on speaker. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen. I need your help. Remember Sherlock?" A soft grunt for a yes. "Yeah, his boyfriend's bike was sabotaged. The brakes stopped working. I'm at the hospital with Sherlock, and we need an officer to escort us in. Da, can you do that?"

Silence. "Son..."

"It's important. We're about to have a Holmes on a rampage."

"I'll voice you through."

Greg held up the phone towards the woman, who nodded slowly and opened the door. "Take an immediate right and go down to the fifth door on your left."

"Stay on the line," Greg said as he dragged Sherlock through the now open door. They were in the ICU. Sherlock gripped Greg's shirt tightly. They got all sorts of looks from people as Greg lead the brunette down the hall. He'd started to limp and Greg frowned. "Are you okay, Sherlock?"

"Adrenaline wore off. I'm fine. Can we take this a little faster. I need to sit. Legs burn."

Greg shifted to support Sherlock more. When he got down to the room John was in, an officer stepped up.

"No one is allowed-"

"Let him," came Greg's father's harsh voice. He paused for a moment. _"Let the boys **in**_ **.** _"_

The officers stepped aside, opened the door. Greg lead Sherlock in. "Thanks, Da." His father hung up with a grunt. Greg kicked the door shut behind him. He set a chair at John's side, sitting Sherlock down. Greg picked up the chart at the foot of the bed. "Sustained heavy head damage, major loss of blood, broken leg, three broken legs, punctured lung, and a crushed foot...He took some heavy damage."

Sherlock leaned forward and brushed his fingers along his arm. It twitched in response. A whole new wave of tears came, the brunette hiding his face into his arm as he sobbed. Greg rubbed his back, a few of his own tears slipping at just how bad John was damaged.

t(-_-)t

John could feel. He could hear, he just couldn't respond. The morphine had him under pretty deep. He listened to Sherlock's muffled cries. He was all too aware. He could feel those long, calloused finger tips caress up and down his arm, brush across his hand. _Sherlock, baby...I'm fine. Really. Baby, don't cry._ John was infuriatedly frustrated that he couldn't communicate. He wanted bit thing more than to console his boyfriend. He could only imagine how he looked right now with those tears streaked down his face. _Stop, love. That's very unbecoming of you. Tears don't suit you, baby._ Those fingers brushed across his hand again.

"He was taking me home..."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," came Greg's voice through the haze. "I'll call your Mum-"

"No. I want to stay as long as possible." Fingers slid up his arm again. "He wouldn't be in such bad condition if he would have gotten a helmet after he started giving me a ride. I should have made him..."

"Don't go making this your fault, Sherlock," came a soft, but harsh tone.

 _No, no. It's not your fault. Not your fault at all. Brakes. Brakes didn't work, my love. Not you're fault._ He tried to lift his finger, but with no luck. He couldn't feel his body. _Ngh, damn morphine_. John's head was swimming with unconsciousness. He caught something about police outside his door. _Probably gonna take me in after I'm awake. Probably gonna make me rot in prison._ Two sets of fingers, one rougher than the others-Greg's- touched his face. Soft lips touched his forehead-Sherlock.

"Stupid git. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!"

John's hand was lifted, placed in something soft. That had to be Sherlock's head. He tried to will his fingers to curl into those soft brunette curls. Not even a twitch. _Come on, John! Fight!_ Fight. Right. He tried. He tried to fight. _Goddamit! **Wake the fuck up! Wake up, John!**_ Those soft curls disappeared from his hand, and John wanted to cry out. _No, no, no! Put that back! Come put my hand back on your head! Baby..._

"I'm honestly surprised he's alive," Greg said, and there was the sound of paper rustling. "He's a lion."

"A broken lion..." Sherlock trailed off.

Greg sighed. There was the sound of water running. "Sherlock, let me get the blood off your face. Tears are making it streak."

There was no hesitation in the action and there was no denial from Sherlock.

"John, I love you, you big oaf."

 _I love you too, you twig._

"Sherlock, it's supper time. Are you sure you don't want to go home?"

"Positive, Greg."

There was another sigh and-a kiss? Probably on the forehead. "Sherlock, behave, okay. I'm going home. Please call me if you need anything."

"Number two on speed dial." _Who's number one?_ A dark chuckle. "My number one is currently unconscious and is no use to me in an emergency." _Oh._

John felt like he wanted to cry at this point. Sherlock yawned softly. He felt his left hand lifted again, placed on his head. An arm stretched across his waist and fingers interlaced with his right. A slight shift, and soft groaned. Sherlock yawned. He must have been stretched to his limits, because not even a few minutes after settling down, the brunette was asleep. _Sleep well, my love._ John stopped trying to fight to regain consciousness through the fog of the morphine. There was no need. He just let himself slip deeper into unconsciousness, allowed himself to be at peace for the moment. Sherlock was by his side, but probably not for long. The hand on his tightened. At ease, his mind shut down.

t(-_-t)

"...increase Morphine."

John began to panic. _What? Increase Morphine? No, no, no, no, no!_ He tried desperately to get his finger to move. _No, no, no!_ He seemed to have managed something, because Sherlock gasped, the head under his hand quickly disappearing.

"John!" It was a soft, quiet squeal. "Wait, wait, wait! Don't increase it!"

"What did you see?" asked a nurse.

"Not what I saw. What I felt." He murmured, brushing his fingers across his hand.

"I don't understand."

"Of course not. It was in Morse. He said 'no'. " _That's it, baby. I'm trying._ John tried to move his finger again when Sherlock's hand was placed underneath his again. It was so very slow and just barely a twitch, but a mind razor sharp like Sherlock could pick it up. "Try...ing. Trying!" His voice was so hopeful that John's heart melted. _That's right. I'm trying. Come on, John! L-O-V-E. That's it. Just a little higher. Y-O-U._ Sherlock squeezed his hand. "I love you too, you idiot."

The door opened, a deep voice rumbling through the room, and then an oh-so familiar voice.

"He's responding!" Sherlock cried happily.

"Is he really?" came Greg's hopeful voice.

 _Y-E-S. Must teach him Morse._ Sherlock was so bubbly and _happy_ that John tried to fight that fog that was keeping him pinned even _harder_.

"He's stable. With a head injury, he shouldn't be alive, much less responding to anything two days later," the man with the deep voice said, the doctor John presumed.

 _F-Y-O-U._ "F..you? F you? Oh! Fuck you!" Sherlock snorted. _P-O-S-I-T - "_ Positive? Positive what?" _Well, if you would let me try to finish, that would be lovely. T-H-O-U-_ "Thoughts. Positive thoughts." _That's right. Stay positive._

The doctor chuckled. "Quite the imagination you have there, boy. There's no way he's responsive. Not after that head injury."

John's bed dipped and the soft hand that was underneath his own was replaced by another, larger. Greg's. "I don't understand Morse, but give me something to go on, John. Give me a good reason to avoid father dearest." Oh, God, John wished he could roll his eyes. He tried to tap his fingers a little stronger, but to no avail, but Greg sighed in relief as he managed a little something. "He's responsive. He really fucking is. You will not convince me he's not."

A hand switch. Much, much bigger, rougher. _Is that hair?_ The doctor. John's finger lightly tapped away.

"Stop." John stopped. "Tap." John tapped. "Stop." He stopped. The hand was taken away and replaced with Sherlock's. _Thank God._

"I'll be damned," the doctor said incredulously. "He's still too far under, however, but he's there."

"Told you he was a tough lion," Greg said.

 _L-I-O-N?_ "I'm not questioning it. Greg's idea. Brother dearest is dragging Mummy here. He is more than likely going to be yelling." _F-U-C-K._ "Yeah. I agree."

The doctor and the nurse left the room, leaving Greg and Sherlock at his side. No one said anything to him for a long while, and it was comfortable to even his numb body. Sherlock kept his hand underneath John's. He could feel the brunette refused to move his hand. _H-E-A-D._ Sherlock grunted quietly. _H-A-N-D._ Sherlock replaced his hand with his head. John's finger slowly lifted in those curls. _S-O-F-T._ A quiet chuckle. The sound of the door creaking open caught John's attention. A wash of anger settled in the room.

"Mycroft. Where's Mummy?"

If John could have physically retreat, he would have. He could feel Mycroft's anger through the numbness. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" His head was jerked from underneath his hand, and all he could do was weakly tap his finger in protest.

"Mycroft, I'm fine! I'm fine! I'm not the one lying in a bed."

"He could have killed you, Sherlock!" There was bitterness to his voice, and John didn't like the way this was going already. "The reckless sod could have killed you! Poor excuse of a boyfriend! A good one does not risk your life on a daily basis. A good one doesn't sell drugs, or carry knives, or any of the sort."

Silence. "So what you're saying is that my boyfriend is a low piece of shit? That's it that's what you're saying."

"Precisely."

John was hurt. If that stupid machine that was monitoring his heart said anything. It began to beep wildly. If he could cry, he would be crying right that moment. Because Mycroft just spoke the truth. _Fucking right...A good boyfriend wouldn't do that...I..I really am low..._ John began to draw away from the surface of the fog he just barely reached to communicate. _What have I done?_ The monitor began to slow down, and after that, everything, every sound, every touch, was fading away. He recalled Sherlock calling him a broken lion... _Yes. Broken. A broken lion. I guess that's all I'll ever be. A broken, fucked up little lion._

t(-_-t)

Sherlock looked at the monitor and then at John. "John? John, you okay?" Nothing. "John? John!" He blinked back tears. His voice was laced with something that he himself didn't recognize. Maybe a little hope? "John...?" Again, nothing. Not a single twitch or tap. The heart monitor had fallen steady. "He's not responding anymore..."

Greg stepped forward, but Sherlock shoved him back. "Sherlock..."

"Get him out!" he screamed, pushing his older brother hard enough to make him fall back. " _Get him out!"_

Greg grabbed Mycroft by his arm. He pulled him up before pushing him towards the door. The blonde took on a disappointed look. "Get out like he said."

"What-? You're on his side with this?" Mycroft couldn't believe it.

"Damn right I am. John could hear and feel things, Mycroft. Look what you did to your baby brother. John was speaking through Morse to him, Mycroft, and I'm afraid you just caused John to stop trying to fight. John gives Sherlock his helmet. And for you to come in here and say that shit when this could have been your baby brother... Get the fuck out, My. Just get the _fuck_ out." He opened the door and shoved Mycroft out of the room and slammed the door shut. He hated to be like that towards his boyfriend, but even his little rant hurt _him_.

Sherlock was crying again and Greg went to him, the taller form grabbing on to him and hugging him close. Greg tried to console the boy, but he wasn't having any luck. He just carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair. The door opened again, and this time, it was his mother. She took a seat and Sherlock let go of the blonde to fold himself up in her lap.

"Why does Mycroft have to ruin everything that brings me joy?" Sherlock demanded between sobs, burying his face in his mother's chest. "He had no right to say what he did!"

Mrs. Holmes looked up at Greg. "What happened?"

Greg sighed and took a seat beside her, brushing his fingers along John's arm. "He was respond to Sherlock. Morse code, just barely there taps. He was doing so well...and then Mycroft came in, yelling. John could hear us and feel. Mycroft literally called John a poor excuse for a boyfriend a lowly piece of _shite_. And well...John's no longer responding to Sherlock. He really had no right to stomp in here and say that. Sherlock demanded him out, and I agree."

Mrs. Holmes rocked her youngest son as she looked over John. "Hush, Sherlock. Hush. Mummy's going to take care of Mycroft." She looked at Greg. "I'm not banning you from coming over-"

"I understand where it's going, Mrs. Holmes. No need to explain."

"Keep him company," she said, carding his fingers through Sherlock's brunette hair. "Take him home, will you, Greg? Get him something to eat. I'm sure he hasn't ate yet."

Greg nodded and picked up Sherlock's helmet off the floor, brushing his fingers over the skid marks. He picked up his own off the counter. Sherlock slowly unfolded himself and stood, grabbing on to Greg's shirt as he lead him out of the hospital, murmuring to him and rubbing his back.

Mrs. Holmes stood next. She put a hand on John's forehead and kissed it. "John, if you can hear me, you need to fight. My boy needs you. Fight for him."

t(-_-t)

 _Sherlock doesn't need someone like me in his life, Mrs. Holmes. I'm no good. Why would you even allow your youngest son to date a drug dealer? You should have know that would cause nothing but trouble. You should have **known**. He could probably find somebody better that can put up with him. I'm just like Mycroft said I would be: a bad influence and nothing but trouble. _

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just can't. I'm reckless, much too reckless for anyone. I nearly had Sherlock killed. No, no, no. Don't you **dare** tell me this isn't my fault **because it damn well is**! It's Sherlock's life above my own. I was operating the bike. I was driving. I did what I could to try not to hurt him too bad. I slung him off so he didn't go down while I slid underneath that truck. I'm done fighting, Mrs. Holmes. I love your son, but I'm done..._

John slipped back into that feeling of numbness, not wanting to hear the woman speak anymore. Doctors came in to check on him, tried to get him to respond again. John was done.

"He was responding earlier. Very much so. The boy that was hear. The one that could understand Morse. Where'd he go?" asked the doctor.

"Home, Doctor. He's broken, and can only take so much at a time," came Mrs. Holmes soothing voice.

 _Stay strong, baby._


	9. Chapter 9

Five. It's been five days since the accident, three days since John stopped responding to Sherlock. NSY found who tampered with John's brakes. And Sherlock. Well, he's been at John's side everyday for hours on end, trying to get John to give a simple 'yes' or a 'no'. It wasn't working, and the brunette was growing more and more frustrated by the day. He and Greg refused to speak to Mycroft, who was hurt at the rejection but realized he every well deserved it. Greg stayed over every night to console the younger Holmes. He sat on the floor beside he bed every night, head leaned back on the mattress, and that's where he would sleep until Sherlock would wake him with silent sobs and soft, fierce words of frustration.

The fourth day of John being in the hospital, Sherlock didn't go. He stayed curled up in bed while Greg and Mycroft got ready for school. Sherlock listened to the sound of Greg's bike as he drove off. Mycroft was still in their shared bedroom packing his books.

"Brother dear, you need to get ready for school," he said, sighing as that long form didn't budge.

Mycroft sighed and slammed the door behind him as he went down stairs. He collected money for the cab as he passed his mother, and without a word, left. He hailed a cab, throwing in his bag. He needed to make things right for his brother.

"Hospital please," he said. The driver grunted.

Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose. What was he going to do? No way he could pass the officers into the room after being kicked out so rudely a few days ago. He paid the fair and got out, shouldering his bag. When he walked in, he was surprised to see Greg leaning against the wall.

"Feels awful, doesn't it?" the blonde said, running his fingers through his hair. "Feels bad knowing you're the reason Sherlock won't eat and barely sleeps?"

Mycroft winced and looked away. Greg's words raised his guilty conscience up. "Yes. I feel absolutely horrible about what I said."

"Words affect more than one person, Mycroft," he said, tapping his head. "Think before you speak out of emotions. I understand you were-are- upset that Sherlock got hurt." He combed his fingers through dark hair. "I knew you would come on your own eventually."

Greg lead Mycroft to John's room. Greg stayed outside as he shoved the older Holmes in. Mycroft took a deep breath, looking over the broken boy.

t(-_-t)

"John...? John."

There was a sense of sadness in the air. John allowed himself to float towards the edge without pushing out of the comfortable little bubble he formed around himself, allowing himself to listen and feel. The morphine was still pinning him down, and he wasn't sure if he were thankful for that or not. Mycroft's voice had a slight tremble when he spoke. John was reluctant not to pull himself back down and ignore his words.

"I...I apologize for what I said three days ago. I was too quick to speak my mind. I was upset that my baby brother was injured and in turn I lashed out and blamed it all on you. John Watson, you are not at all completely the man you make yourself out to be. There is good in your heart and soul, and right now, Sherlock needs you more than ever. He won't eat a single thing. Not even sweets. He won't drink anything. He won't sleep. He plays his violin at night before bed and all there is is sadness in his heart. Please, John, I'm sorry. I...I should have realized how hurtful my words were." There was just the faintest feel of his fingers brushing across his cheeks. "He's been skipping school to come here, and he's stayed with you until Greg makes him go home. Today, he seemed like he's given up hope. I refuse to sit back and watch him crumble."

Now _that_ was something he wanted to hear. _Don't expect me to rub your back and tell you everything is all okay and I forgive you n' shit because that's not gonna happen. Not even when I'm out._ John listened to the door open, close, and then a pair of footsteps coming to his bed. The bed shifted beside him.

"Sherlock called. He's catching a cab over here to visit," Greg said. "I've got to go to school so I don't get too far behind. Unlike you and Sherlock, I don't pick up on shit that fast." A chuckle.

Greg stayed put until the door opened again and that sweet baritone voice John loved so much spoke. "Hey, Greg. Swing by after school?"

"Yeah. Want me to bring you lunch?"

"No, it's fine."

Greg left the room and then it was just him and Sherlock. _Baby, what's this about you not eating or sleeping? You can't deny your body such simple needs, love._ Sherlock placed his hand underneath John's, as he always did when he began to asked question. He sighed softly and nuzzled his hand.

"I love you, John. So much..."

Sherlock's voice cracked, and John's heart broke a little at the sound. He pushed on that bubble he surrounded himself in. His Sherlock needed him. Warmth spread throughout his body at the very feeling...or it could have been the morphine, but who cares? He went right up to that fog and took a leap, pushing himself, pushing, pushing, pushing to break through. He wanted to open his eyes and see that mess of a boy. He fought to lift his finger, this time higher than when he first started responding. _L-O-V-E._ He relished in the soft gasp his boyfriend released and it made him fight even harder. _Y-O-U._

"Oh, my God, John!" _Hello, baby. Missed you too._ Sherlock traced and infinity symbol on the palm of John's hand. "What made you come back for me?" _M-Y-C-R-O-F-T._ "Why?" _W-O-R-T-H-Y._ "Of what?" _Y-O-U._

Sherlock brushed his fingers up and down John's arm. The feeling was pleasant. That weight that kept him down felt as though it was starting to lift as Sherlock continued to run his fingers up and down his arm. _D-O-N-T-S-T-O-P_. Sherlock chuckled and continued to run his fingers up and down his arm. It was a soothing feeling that relaxed his body. He tried to turn his head in the direction of his boyfriend, tried to force his heavy eyelids open. _Come on, John. Open your eyes, you little shit._ Slowly, very, very, _very_ slowly, John could feel his head turn to his left. _Yes, yes, yes! Progress!_ Gravity took hold and his head went rolling completely to the left, startling Sherlock.

"John?" came his small, worried voice. "John?"

 _Words, words, words! Use them!_ "...lock...Sh'rlock."

The brunette gasped and squealed and tightened his grip on his hand. _Eyes, open your fucking eyes!_ John was mumbling incoherently, probably what he was thinking. He fought that stupid weight of morphine. He fought, and he fought, and he fought. His eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the brightness of the room and he groaned lowly. And the first thing he saw was beautiful misty blue eyes lit up with pure _happiness_. It was the single most beautiful thing he's ever woken up too in a while. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. Sherlock nearly threw himself over John, but then the fact that John was severely injured and not capable of holding his weight hit him. Instead he settled for resting his forehead against the blonde's.

"John...John, John, John...Don't ever do that to me again. Don't ever let go like that again, no matter what."

John managed a weak chuckle. He swallowed thickly, his throat was dry as hell. Sherlock kissed his nose and then his busted lips gently, lovingly. His fingers raked through what was left at the top of his head (the doctors having shaved the back to stitch him up, and with a little fuss from Sherlock, the sides as well). John's breath caught in his throat at the feel of his boyfriend's lips on his. His eyes fluttered closed. The heart monitor started beeping like crazy. Sherlock chuckled and was about to pull away, but John's left arm lifted and his hand rested on the back of his neck, holding him down. It was so good to be back.

"Eat," John said, pushing the brunette away to get a look at his scraggly form. "You need to eat something."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm fine. Really."

"Mycroft said you haven't been eating." _Fuck_ , his voice sounded rough. He really needed water. This was embarrassing. "And you haven't been sleeping well." John picked up the remote settled beside him. He moved it to the empty chair beside his bed in order to make room for Sherlock. The brunette carefully settled himself on his side against John. "When was the last time you ate?"

Sherlock buried his face in John's chest, the blonde stiffening as he nuzzled a bruise-or maybe it was a scrape. Either way, it hurt, but he combed his fingers through those soft curls slowly. "Um...Lunch...before we got the tattoo done. About five days ago."

John frowned, fingers gripping his hair in a weak grip. "Sherlock Holmes! Don't deny your body key things it needs."

"John, I couldn't eat. The mere idea of food made me want to vomit."

John looked around the room, spotted a container with what looked like his things spilling over. "Are those my things?" Sherlock nodded. "Okay, then get my wallet, march your perky ass _straight_ down to the cafeteria and get you _something_ to eat. For me. Eat something for me."

Sherlock's stomach rumbled at the order John gave, and Sherlock groaned. John sent him on his way, the brunette complaining about leaving his side. He rolled his eyes and sighed. He wanted to close them, but the fear of not being able to open them again kept them open for him. He stared at the ceiling. Damn, he could just remember the last time he'd been check into a hospital. He was six maybe. Just learning to shoot a nine millimeter. Ricochet bullet clipped him in the shoulder. Yeah, he didn't miss the hospital one bit. He used his good arm to push back the cover on him to get a good look at the damage he'd taken. His whole right side was pretty screwed up. Made since. That was the side he went down on. It was scratched up to hell, a cast on both his leg and arm. Meh, it was better that then it to be Sherlock who was in this condition.

Speaking of the brunette, was walking somewhat timidly into the room. He sat down on the bed and dropped a couple bags of chips and a little box of apple juice beside him. He opened up one of the bags of chips, looking innocently at John.

"What? You said _something_ to eat," he said lazily, munching quite happily away.

John rolled his eyes. "Whenever the hell I'm out of here, I'm taking you out to dinner. No questions asked, and no buts about it."

"But what about your leg-"

"Damn my leg!" He chuckled. "It's not gonna stop me from taking my boyfriend out to eat. It may slow me down, but it won't stop me, baby."

Sherlock moved his chips and apple juice and settled against John's side again. He continued his snaking while John played with his hair. The crunching sounds of chips wasn't being heard as often as it should be heard. John looked down to see his boyfriend dozing off, jerking his head back up and popped another chip in his mouth. The blonde smiled and managed a weak sounding lullaby, the brunette falling sleep with a chip hanging from his lip. Oh, how he wish he could get a picture. He carefully reached down with his broken arm, wincing as the strain on his shoulder hella hurt, and he pulled the cover up over them. John laid his head back, closing his eyes. All that fighting to open his eyes, to talk, worn him out. Listening to Sherlock snore, the drug dealer soon found himself drifting off to sleep as well.

t(-_-t)

Greg pushed open the door to John's room, raising his eyebrow at the sight of Sherlock, curled against John's side, completely hogging the cover, with a chip hanging out of his mouth, fast asleep. He chuckled and turned around to close the door, dropping his backpack on the counter.

"Shh. He's asleep. Don't want to wake him up now, do we?"

Greg gasped and spun on his heels. "Christ, you're awake!" he whispered in relief. "Thank the fucking _Lord!_ I thought I would never see him sleep like that anytime soon."

"Get the chip," John said casually. "Throw it away. I can't reach it. He's drool all over it and it's all soggy and gross."

Greg rolled his eyes and threw away the soggy chip. "Do you want the cover back. You're bits are showing."

"I very well feel the breeze, but no it's fine. I don't want to risk waking him up." He turned his head and pressed a light kiss to Sherlock's head, the brunette sighing softly in delight. "Do you know why the police are outside my door?" John tilted his head.

Greg shrugged. "I asked Da about it and he didn't know."

"Ah. Must be those on the payroll."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "You have cops on a payroll."

John snorted and winced. "I have people in every department on payroll. Lawyers, a judge or two, doctors, cops, homeless people, FBI, CIA. The list could go on. Parliament is very well aware, just chooses to ignore us so long as we don't cause trouble."

"But killing?"

"Can't have Scotland Yard chase a bone that hasn't been thrown."

Greg shrugged, feeling around for Sherlock's feet before sitting down on the bed and leaning over John's legs. "Took a pretty nasty hit."

"Actually I slid underneath a large truck. Slung Twig here off so he wouldn't take this kind of damage." He mused Sherlock's curls lightly. "I'm happy that he only got scraped up. I'm not happy that he had to take injury at all..."

"It wasn't your fault, mate. Your brakes had been tampered with."

John's eyebrows knotted together. "No _wonder_ breaks no longer worked."

"Caught the guy already."

John raised his eyebrows in a noncommittal gesture. "That's nice to know."

Greg nodded. He went to his bag and pulled out a stack of paperwork and books. "Well, mate. I collected work for you two so you don't get too far behind. I'm assuming you won't need help with any of it?"

Again, John snorted. "It would be insulting for you to assume we do."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm going home. I'll order a cab for him-"

"He's fine. Leave him be."

Greg shouldered his bag. "Alright. Let him sleep as long as he can. Poor sod has been worried sick about you. And I've got to go talk to Mycroft."

"Tell him I will fuck his face up big time next time he talk shit about me like I'm not even in the room. I _will_ punch him in the face."

"Ditto."

"Don't even act surprised or nothing."

"Yeah, yeah!" he said as he closed the door behind him.

John brushed his thumb along Sherlock's cheek. He sighed softly and stared at the wall. He hummed softly. He had nothing to do (like he was gonna do the work. Pah!) So he did what any bored person would do: sing. Though he clipped songs together with little pause to keep himself busy.

 _I'm scared to get close,_

 _And I hate being alone,_

 _I long for that feeling to not feel at all,_

 _The higher I get, the lower I sink,_

 _I can't drown my demons,_

 _They know how to swim_

John stopped when he heard soft humming coming from the boy curled up at his side. He looked down to see those misty blue eyes looking over him. "Bring Me The Horizon...they're not bad. I like the lyrics a lot."

"Did some research, eh?"

"A bit, yes." He dug into his pocket and pulled out John's shattered iPod. The blonde frowned and took it, grunting.

"Awe, I've had this thing since it came out. Guess I'll be getting a new one."

Sherlock nosed his hand. "There's nothing wrong with this one."

"It's shattered to hell."

"You just want a reason to spend money on me."

John scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Who said anything about spending money on you, Twig?"

Sherlock smiled and leaned into the fingers combing through his curls as he took back the iPod. Sherlock pressed light kisses against John's neck before closing his eyes and yawning. The brunette carefully laid his head on his chest, listening to the beat of the heart monitor and matching it to the real, steady thump of John's heart.

"How are you?" John asked suddenly, startling Sherlock.

"I'm fine now, John. Feels much better to have you talking to me."

John signed softly, rubbing his hand against Sherlock's back. Sherlock relaxed into his side, nuzzling his chest contently. He was about to drift asleep, but he was startled, as was John, by the door slamming against the wall. A tough woman, maybe an inch or two taller than John, with dusty blonde hair and greenish-blue eyes and a set jaw. Sherlock studied the woman, recognized the tough attitude from somewhere-ah, yes! From John. The similarities were striking. Same color blonde hair, nearly the same color eyes, strong built. The woman was in her mid-forties, and was clearly a frequent drug user.

John's mother.

The woman stepped forward to examine the boy(s) in the bed. Sherlock moved his head off of John's chest and rested it on his shoulder.

"You look like shit, son," the woman said.

John tensed. His hand went up to Sherlock's hair and stroked through it, the action seeming to relax his sore body. "You look like shit, too, Mum. Been doing meth again, haven't you?" A slow smirk formed on his lips. "Perhaps the stress is getting to you Mummy Dearest."

She looked taken aback. "Stress of what? You don't know a damn thing. You're never home!"

John licked his lips. "Stress of the whole cartel depending on you with out a man to put people in their place. And as for me being home, I sure as hell am. _You're_ the one who's never home. Taking a trip to God knows where doing God knows who. I seem to recall a four month trip to France."

Sherlock looked between the two nervously. The tension in the room was too strong. The brunette could see the woman had a knife tucked into her boot and a nice revolver settled in the waistband of her trousers, hidden by a long coat. John was clearly in no shape to fight, but when push come to shove, John would shove Sherlock right out of that bad and fight his mother. He sunk further underneath the blanket.

"The fuck is this making himself at home against _my_ son?" She pulled a knife out, John instantly sitting up painfully to lean across the brunette, and she pointed it at Sherlock.

John bit back his pain and glared. "Put the fucking knife up. Twig here, this is my boyfriend, Mum." The heart monitor started beeping faster as he held his ground over Sherlock. "Stand down."

She reluctantly put the knife back in its sheath and put it back in her boot. "You...have are in a relationship? What have I told you about relationships? They get in the way of the sales!"

"And that's why Dad's dead, yeah?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Mum, you're not the only one with people on a payroll. This entire _business_ is run off people on the payroll. They offer you people who are interested in your product, give you protection when you needed it, and they can just be a straight up friend when needed. Honestly, Mum. Should know this by now."

John allowed himself to settle back against the bed, panting lightly from the effort. She approached the bed on his left. She raised her hand and let it drop hard on Sherlock's arm, the brunette crying out instinctively in pain and pushed himself more against John. He glared at the woman, rubbing his arm gently as he prodded at the scraped flesh.

"He's got nothing on his bones, John! What are you supposed to do with someone that can't even protect himself?"

John's eyes widened, but there was a something about the look, sarcastic. "Oh, I don't know? _Love him?"_ Wow the amount of sarcasm dripping from John's voice was a record level. "And who _the hell_ are _you_ to come into here, and talk me like I'm not worth _shit._ Because I can promise you, my street worth his a _helluva_ lot better than you or Dad. You don't earn _shit_ from being only feared. You have to be _feared_ just enough for them to _respect_ you." Again, John's heart rate sped up. "And you know what, you crazy bitch? You can take the _whole. fucking_ cartel because I don't want a damn thing to do with it anymore. It's caused me nothing by pure misery!"

"John, you know good and damn well-"

"Yeah, that you can't just 'let me go' because you need me in first place. I get it, but until you actually start treating me _with respect_ and keep me in the loop, it ain't gone happen."

Sherlock looked at John's set jaw, and then his mother's set jaw. The tension was tightening even more and the brunette could feel it was about to snap, and honestly, he didn't want to be nowhere near when that happen. Fingers in his hair clenched tight, painfully tight, and he let out a small whimper. John instantly let go and returned to carding his fingers through his hair. She glared at her son and she pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly a sign of agreement. Sherlock scanned the long, slender arm, noticing the same tattoo that was on the back of her arm as what was on John's back.

"So how's Harry?" he asked sharply, the woman relaxing a bit at the change of subject.

"Fine. She's out. College believe it or not. Paying shit herself."

"Good. Good. Can't wait till I'm twenty. I'm doing exactly what she did. Once I'm twenty, I'm out, and I'm leaving you to deal with the cartel. Business is done. Get _the hell_ out of here."

She huffed and turned her back. "Son."

"Mother."

She slammed the door behind her. Sherlock slid up and more comfortably against John. That was definitely not something he was expecting. John often left to help his mother out when she needed it. But if she was in France for four months...then what was John saving his mother from all those times? It was question he needn't to speak, as John could already feel the stiffness in Sherlock's body as those questionable misty blue eyes turned up to him, cloudy with his confusion.

John just simply sighed. "Sherlock...?"

"So if she was in France al this time, what were you doing when you left to 'save' your mother?" he demanded.

John carded his finger through his curls. "I was doing jus that. Mum gets herself in debt with her supplier and it's up to me to pay off her debts and save her sorry ass. Dad taught her better but she's a stubborn, stuck up bitch."

"You are too," Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware," John snapped, but his voice held no malice. "But I make and grow my own product so there is no middle man to pay off. Dad tried explaining that, but of course, it didn't take root in that brain." John gave a weak shrug of his left shoulder. "I'm done paying off her debts. I've got my own things I need to pay for, and a supplier ain't one of them."

Sherlock _tsk_ ed and set his head on John's chest. Fingers on his back were soothing him once again, back into a sleepy state. Damn, he's never slept so much before. He couldn't wait for John to be out of the hospital so he could properly cuddle him and properly snog him without any nurses come rushing in when the heart monitor starts beeping like crazy. Ugh, his patience wasn't ready for the wait, and his body wasn't ready to be peeled off of John. His eyes closed once again, drifting off into another round of sleep, this time much more comfortably with his head on John's chest and his heart thumping beneath his ear...


	10. Chapter 10

"John...John _...Oh my, God, John_!" Sherlock yelled, pushing said blonde down on the couch.

Okay, John was not a happy camper. He also wasn't a very mobile camper either. The blonde was just simply miserable. He was in pain, he was antsy, and in a very nasty mood that only Sherlock could possibly handle (since this was him basically every day).

"I'm tired of sitting on the fucking couch!" John wailed childishly. "I'm in pain, and I want to move around!"

Sherlock sighed as he watched John poke at the pink cast on his leg. He rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "Fine. I guess I'll entertain you then, since you're so itchy to do something." He hauled John's dead weight up and supported him on his right side while John got his crutch. It was a slow process, but John managed to get to the stairs. With his John's jaw set, Sherlock helped him up the stairs to his and Mycroft's bedroom. John flopped down on the bed and looked up at Sherlock, watching him close the door. The blonde raised his eyebrow. The brunette swung those sharp hips from side to side, and John groaned, leaning his head back as he closed his eyes.

"God, I swear you're one of the seven sins, Sherlock," John said as he was straddled, biting his lips slightly at the small sharp pain he felt in his lower half, but he couldn't really focus on the pain, not with that plush arse of his rubbing against him.

Sherlock smirked. "Maybe I am. Perhaps _Asmodeus_ has taken over, in this case."

John couldn't help but snort at the name. "The demon associated with lust." He ran his good hand up and down Sherlock's back. He licked his lips and nosed at Sherlock's chest, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in between his teeth and dragging it upwards.

The brunette got the message and pulled off his shirt a slow, smooth motion, dripping the item on the floor. John's nose instantly skimmed across his pale skin, inhaling the sweet smell of a tropical breeze. Eyes closed, he simply explored by touch. When his nose grazed a nipple, he brought his mouth up and closed around it, sucking it and lapping at it lightly. Sherlock gasped and arched into his mouth. He tangled his fingers into his hair, resting his forehead on John's as his mouth kissed across his chest. He rubbed his tongue piercing across the hardening bud. The brunette whined softly, grinding down carefully against John, the punk growling at the feeling.

Sherlock gasped. The low growl John released aroused him like no other. Jesus! John dragged his tongue up to the base of his neck and huffed. Sherlock looked at the blonde, confused as to why he made a disapproving sound. A light blush came to John's cheeks, but he otherwise stayed neutral, licking his lips.

"I...I can't reach your neck like I want to...Can you _carefully_ shift towards my knees and lean forward... _Hah!_ Ow. Just like that- there you go."

With Sherlock settled comfortably on his knees, John went straight to where he wanted. He mouthed at the area around his pulse point before latching on to the throbbing area and sucked, pierced tongue dancing over the smooth skin. Sherlock moaned loudly, bringing his hand up to bite his knuckle as John sucked harder on the area. The blonde could feel his heart quicken beneath his tongue. Sherlock's hips jerk forward instantly, John grunting and biting own. When Sherlock's mindless rutting against his leg became full out needy thrust, John let go, forcing the brunette to look him in his eyes.

John was sure his pupils matched Sherlock's, completely blown and reflecting his lust. He grabbed that slender chin between his thick fingers. "What are you getting at, Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock shifted carefully in John's lap, eyes darting away from his boyfriend. "John...I-" He bit his lip. "I need this. I need you." John raised an eyebrow. "I need you to...bed me..." Heat flooded his cheeks and turned them a deep shade of red.

John could help but laugh a little, causing Sherlock's blush to deepen. He started to move away, but John put a firm hand on his waist. "Such an innocent little thing. You want right now to be our first time?" Sherlock nodded. A slow smile spread across John's face. "Well, it'll be a little awkward, but we can wing it. Lube?"

"We can use Mycroft's," Sherlock said lazily, running his fingers through John's hair.

John purred as those long finger carded through his hair. He nodded and Sherlock slid off his lap, strutting to Mycroft's half of the room. He rummaged around his drawers, shaking his arse as he hummed. He gave a satisfied 'Ah!' when he found it. He tossed it to John, who caught it and shifted back a bit on the twin sized bed. Sherlock strutted back to John, leaning down to kiss him lightly. John tucked his thumb in the waistband of Sherlock's trousers, the brunette helping him get them down. he stepped out of them, leaving his long pale legs visible to John's hungry eyes. Sherlock's eager cock twitched in his pants as John looked him over.

John looked at the lube in his hand, leaning over to flip on the bed side lamp to read the label. _"Astroglide Personal Lubricant._ Mycroft has a nice taste," he said casually, setting it aside. Sherlock scoffed lightly at the comment, watching as John slid his left hand up the brunette's right leg, closing his eyes. He would frown when he came across a large scabbed area from the accident, and then he would continue up. He grabbed the cotton pants he wore and pulled them down. Sherlock kicked them off. His hand then slid up his left in the same fashion, frowning at each scab his fingers touched, and then he cupped his arse the best he could with the one hand. John moved a little closer to the wall. He grabbed his broken leg and carefully pulled the cast clad limb up on the bed. He pulled his left leg up as well.

Sherlock grabbed at the front of John's shirt, the punk lifting his arms carefully to allow him to carefully remove the article of clothing. Sherlock licked his lips as tanned skin was exposed. He straddled John again, mouth kissing down John's jaw down to his neck. He found a spot a little further back where his shoulder and neck connected on his left side, licking the area before biting down. John hissed and his hand flew up to tangle into soft brunette curls.

"J-Jesus, love. Could you bite any harder?" John asked rhetorically, and in response, Sherlock's jaw flexed and tightened around the soft patch of skin captured between his teeth. He groaned softly, hips rolling up slowly. Sherlock got the message and began to grind down carefully into his lap, small, muffled whimpers coming from him. "Shush, now, love. I know you want more. Stand up on the bed, gorgeous. Brace yourself against the wall."

Sherlock placed his left hand against the wall, looking down at John and shuddering when he realized why he'd need to be braced against the wall. His cock was just level with his mouth, and the blonde opened his mouth. Soft mewls left his mouth as John toyed wit his twitching erection, lips wrapping around the head and his pierced tongue flicking over the tip before taking him down into his throat like a _goddamn pro_. Sherlock was average sized, not too hard to take down, but not too easy either. His blunt nails scratched at the wall as that too good mouth worked it's way up and down.

"Ngh, John!" he cried out as John's hand squeezed his arse, bucking into his mouth.

John hummed around him, the hand squeezing Sherlock's plump arse, sliding to his hips to hold them still. He slowly slid his mouth off Sherlock's throbbing and twitching cock, placing small kisses to the head. John's eyes met Sherlock's, and he licked his lips. Those long pale legs were shaking lightly, and John was determined to make them shake even more, but first...he wanted out of his sweats, his own cock twitching painfully against the cotton. "Sherlock, help me get my sweats down?"

Sherlock nodded and sat down on the bed for a moment, running his hand over John's chest. John lifted himself up the best he could while Sherlock tucked his thumbs into the waist band of his sweats and pants, pulling them down. He worked the right side down over the large bulky cast on his leg, then he just let John kick them off his left. Sherlock settled on his knees, pressing shy kisses along his left thigh. He wrapped his hand shyly around John's throbbing prick, giving a few slow strokes. He bit his lower lip. John was fucking _huge,_ but proportionate to John's body-more or less. He was much longer than Sherlock expected, thicker too. Sherlock's mind provided measurements for the incredibly nervous brunette. John was a good 8 1/4 inches long. Sherlock couldn't quite figure out his girth, but nonetheless, _fucking thick_ came to his mind. He place a kiss on the tip, debating whether or not he still wanted to go through with this now after seeing just how big he boyfriend was erect.

"John..." he trailed off, eyes looking up.

John was chewing away at his bottom lip. "I know, Sherlock. It's okay if you don't want to follow through any more. I promise I- _Jesus_ _ **fuck**_ _!"_ Sherlock had taken in the head and was sucking vigorously, his delicate hand pumping him. Sherlock wasn't as experienced as John seemed to be, teeth coming into the equation by accident, but it sent a shock of pure pleasure coursing though John's sore body.

The punk's left hand tangled in those thick curls as that hot mouth began to descend on his cock. He couldn't fit no more than just a little under half of John in his mouth. His hand stroked what couldn't fit in his mouth as he began to bob his head. John's hand tightened in his hair as that long tongue stroked around what was in his mouth, pulling up to suck only on the head before going down again. The fact that Sherlock was so eager as he sucked him was enough to get John off alone. He tugged gently on those soft curls, pulling Sherlock off his throbbing cock.

"Lean on over my right shoulder and spread your legs for me."

Sherlock bit his lower lip. "John-I don't want to hurt you," he said shyly, brushing his fingers through his curls, climbing back up on the bed and standing, one hand on the wall to keep himself from falling.

John nosed the inside of Sherlock's thigh. "It's okay, baby. Look at you. You need this, and I'm not gonna complain. Lean over my shoulder love and spread those pretty, long legs for me." He bit down on the inside of Sherlock's left thigh, the brunette gasping.

Sherlock spread his legs wider and leaned over his right shoulder. John gave a soft grunt, waiting for Sherlock to settle himself comfortably. He picked up the lube, Sherlock shivering as he heard the top open. John applied a generous amount of the gel on his finger tips. He then rubbed the slick gel at Sherlock's puckered entrance. He twisted his fingers this way and that to coat them before sliding in one digit. The brunette groaned at the foreign feeling.

"Okay?" John asked, nuzzling Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock hummed. "Okay. Feels weird but not at all unpleasant."

John chuckled softly, sliding that finger in deeper. He slowly worked that finger in and out before joining it with a second. Sherlock grunted and tightened around the two fingers. "Relax, love. I can't properly stretch you if you're so tense." He skimmed his nose along his sharp hipbone, tongue dipping out to lick at his skin lightly. A shudder, and Sherlock's body began to relax around the fingers, allowing them to slip deeper in and draw out a moan from Sherlock's gorgeous mouth.

The punk made quick but thorough work of prepping his boyfriend, three fingers working the brunette open. Sherlock was shameless about moaning, rocking back against those fingers and whining when they were removed. John lowered Sherlock down to his knees, tangling slick fingers into brunette hair and kissing him passionately, relaxing the strung out body in his arms. John generously lubed his cock, tossing the bottle onto Mycroft's bed. His put both his hands on Sherlock's hips. The cast on his arm made it a bit awkward but both boys got over it. Sherlock was nervous, and John's good hand squeezed and massaged his hips gently to get him to relax again.

"We're taking this nice and slow. Nice and slow." John guided the his cock to Sherlock's opening. "Just stay relaxed-No, no. Deep breaths. That's it..."

Sherlock took a deep breath and rocked back on John, clutching at the punk as the plump head pushed in. The brunette took another shuddering breath, slowly lowering himself down. John was so thick, and he was being stretched much more. He stopped half way, a few tears falling. John shushed him and gently and wiped away his tears.

"Deep breaths, darling. Relax. You're halfway there," John groaned, combing his fingers through those soft locks. "That's it baby. Whenever _you're_ ready to take the rest of me."

Sherlock nuzzled John's neck, arms tightening around him. A few minutes later, Sherlock looked into John's eyes and nuzzled his cheek. The blonde understood and he was helping the brunette lower himself all the way down. A noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob escaped his lips. He just kept his head down, keening.

 _"Goddamn,_ you're _thick_."

John shrugged light heartedly. "It's from my Mum's side of the family."

Sherlock chuckled softly, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Just- _Jesus_. "

"I don't exactly fall into that preference of most people. I'm much too big for my age. "

"You are d-definitely above normal size, b-but..." The brunette began to grind down on him. "It's part of you, and want all of you."

John moaned, tugging on those curls. "It should be illegal to be so damn _perfect_ ," he groaned. "Lift yourself up a bit- _ngh!-_ that's it. Now slid back down- _hah!-_ Relax and you'll go down easier." John gripped Sherlock's hip with his good hand, helping to lift him up and lower him back down at a steady pace. "Slow and steady. Lift up a little higher. That's it. Just a little higher. Now back down- _oh, ya!-_ just as slow."

Sherlock's moans were muffled in John's neck as John talked him through their first time. The more and more he grew comfortable with the feeling of John inside him, the bolder he'd get. John wasn't talking him through it anymore, letting the brunette's body take over and ride him like he wanted to. Sherlock's fingers were stroking the back of his neck as he began to move faster. John shifted on a downward thrust, pure pleasure racking the smaller boy's body.

 _"Fuck, John!"_ he shouted, stilling for a moment. John smirked lightly, rolling his hips a bit into the willing body, brushing against that sensitive bundle of nerves that had made his lover shout. Sherlock whimpered. "O-oh my G-God! Th-there!"

The brunette began to push down with a vengeance, fingers digging into the back of the blonde's neck as he drew closer and closer. John could feel him began to tighten around him, and he moaned freely. He grabbed hold of Sherlock's sharp hips, slowing him down and backing him away from the edge so soon. The punk made him give shallow downward thrusts, just enough to tease but not enough to please. His breathing slowed with the pace and his heart began to slow down.

"Let's draw this out a little longer, darling. At the pace you were going, you would have came early. Calm down, love, calm down..."

Sherlock did as he was told, taking long deep breaths to control himself. He lifted himself up and slowly slid back down on his cock, drawing a long moan. John's fingers scratched at Sherlock's hips. Sherlock was amazed at how well John was keeping himself controlled, thinking about _Sherlock_ and not _himself_. The brunette found it strange, but comforting, though, he could see in John's eyes, the way his jaw was set, that he so desperately wanted Sherlock to ram himself down on his wonderfully thick cock. Sherlock stroked along John's jaw. John guided Sherlock up and down at that teasing pace, drawing out their moment together. Sherlock kissed John with a simmering passion that fit the slow movements, the punk swallowing each whimper, whine, and moan the boy made. John put more fire in the kiss and leg go of his hips in favorite of wrapping them around his thin waist.

Sherlock shouted out when John shifted again on a downward thrust. Sherlock's pace quickened, the same vengeance returning, and this time, John let it, moaning in shear pleasure as the brunette began to tighten around him, drawing closer and closer. John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's forgotten, throbbing prick. Sherlock actually _squeaked_.

"J-John! Ngh-Gonna- _John!"_

Sherlock dug his nails into John's shoulders and back, clawing desperately at the punk as his orgasm hit him hard. He was vaguely aware John swearing into the crook of his neck, and his body being brought down hard a few more times before his back was on the bed and warmth filled him, and once he came down from the clouds and back to reality, he realized that it was John's seed.

 _"John,"_ the brunette moaned as the blonde pulled out and settled on his left sighed, pulling him into his arms. "I love you, oh _God_ I love you," Sherlock slurred tiredly during pants.

John didn't need to speak. He simply pulled him impossibly closer, kissing and nuzzling his sweaty hairline. He hummed and stroked through those sweat soaked curls until the boy was fast asleep. John's stomach rumbled. He wormed his way out of Sherlock's grip and out of the bed. He stood and pulled the sheet up to his shoulders with a soft smile. He picked up his pants and sat down to wrestle them on, and then he was standing again, carefully making his way downstairs. He peered around the corners to make sure no one of serious importance was in the room before heading into the kitchen.

He went to the fridge, sifting through the things. He'd practically made himself at home in 221B. A soft chuckle behind him startled him, gripping onto the counter to keep from falling. He relaxed when he saw it was Mrs. Holmes.

"Hungry much?" she asked from her stretched out position on the couch.

John hummed, getting things out to make a sandwich or two. "Quite."

"Talked him through it, yeah?" she said, sitting up and leaning forward.

John turned a light shade of red, knowing damn well what she was talking about. He took his plate of two sandwiches and sat on the couch, laying his crutched down beside it. "Well-"

"Just a curious mother worried about her youngest son's well-being." She shrugged casually.

"Definitely made sure he didn't hurt himself more than necessary."

Sherlock stumbled downstairs, wearing John's t-shirt, the item falling to his knees even with his height. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and moved down to the couch. He nearly tripped over John's crutch, seating himself much harder into John's lap than he originally had planned. He brought his feet up on the couch, lying his head on John's left shoulder. He took one of John's sandwiches and began to nibble on it.

"Mummy, will you make me a sandwich?" Sherlock asked in a slight slur, still clearly very much asleep. His eyes weren't even fully open.

"Hello, darling," John said, looking down at the boy folded up on his lap. "Didn't even put on your pants."

"Didn't feel like it. I almost came downstairs starkers because I really didn't feel like putting this shirt on, but it smelled like you so I did."

"Reason enough," John chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich and brushing crumbs from Sherlock's hair.

Mrs. Holmes brought a small plate with a turkey sandwich to Sherlock, who graciously accepted it and gave back the one he'd been nibbling on to John. The boy _inhaled_ his sandwich. Mrs. Holmes stared incredulously at Sherlock, blinking rapidly as she was handed his plate and asked for another. She took it and stood up.

"Pardon my language, but I need to let you two fuck more often if he'll eat like this," she said, still stunned that he put down a sandwich and was more than happy to eat another.

John scoffed lightly, and finished off his two sandwiches. Sherlock took his second sandwich and ate it a bit more slowly, belching once he was finished. He laid his head back down on John's shoulder, curling up more against the punk. He pulled the shirt down over his knees, inhaling the sweet and sweaty smell of his boyfriend.

"Going back to sleep, eh?" John chuckled, combing his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"Mmph.. Tired, John," he murmured, nuzzling his neck.

"It's okay. You can sleep. I'm right here, baby."

A content hummed rumbled from Sherlock's chest, the sound fading out as he drifted back off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

"You're not getting another bike, John," Sherlock said hysterically, mortified by the near thought of it. It had been only two months ago he'd had an accident, three days since he was finally mobile like he liked to be.

"Yes, I am, Sherlock," John replied, putting a cigarette between his lips.

"After what happen?" The brunette scoffed. "Did you not learn anything from that accident?"

John took a drag of his cigarette. "Yeah. Helmets are important. Check your breaks regularly. I can't rely on the taxi, and you damn well it." He blew smoke out in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock, infuriated, yelled out, "You're a moron, John! A huge fucking idiot! You're worried more about your goddamn reputation than my life!"

The blonde took another long, slow drag off his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a huff. "You know what, Sherlock? I damn well do-"

"You're un-fucking-believable, John! Unbe-fucking-lievable!" His voice cracked as he furiously beat down the urge to cry. "How could you put your reputation over my life?"

John just looked over Sherlock with sad blue eyes as he finished his cancer stick. He put the butt behind his ear, looking down at his hands. He looked back up, eyes hard, but the tremble in his hand, the way his entire body shuddered at something unknown to Sherlock. "Go fuck yourself, Sherlock." His nose twitched as he pointed towards the door. "Get out. And don't come back."

Sherlock was taken aback from the amount of steel in John's voice. It was hard and sharp, sliced through his mind, cut him deeper than anything every could physically or mentally. He took a step back away from the shorter male, eyes wide and his mouth open. He just stood there, fighting his own emotions. "You don't mean it..." he whispered.

"Get the fuck out," he said sharply. "And don't come back. Ever."

Sherlock was losing control of his emotions. Sadness nearly caused him to shut down. "John...do _not_ do this to me. _Don't you dare_!"

John pushed Sherlock to the floor as he yelled, "I said ' _Get the fuck out'!_ Get out! Get out! Get it through that thick skull! I don't _want_ you! I don't want you here! Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? Do I have to play a fucking break up song?"

Sherlock stood slowly. In an act of rage, he swung at John. The ring made the sting worse. Sherlock screamed out as he repeatedly punched John, over and over, the blonde falling onto the floor from the impact, the smaller boy straddling as he hit him. "Fucking promised! _You fucking promised me, John!_ I trusted you! _I fucking trust you, John!_ _You stupid!"_ A punch. _"Piece of!"_ Another punch. _"No good!"_ Another hit. _"Fucking!"_ Another punch. _"Shit!"_ And another punch. The tears just freely fell from him as he sobbed. "I-I-I-"

John was unable to clearly focus on Sherlock. The brunette had beat him to near unconsciousness. He watched through the one eye that had managed to avoid the worst of Sherlock's hate driving beating as the brunette took off the bloody ring and threw at John. There was a stinging sensation on his left cheek, though he couldn't be sure. He was confident that's were the ring hit him. When the door slam shut, he sat up. He felt around for the little piece of jewelry. He squeezed it tightly in his hand, letting out a choked sob. His left eye was swollen shut and as his own tears, he could feel the sting as they touched cuts across his check and under his eye.

He slowly stood and stumbled to his phone on the couch. He picked it up, dialed out. The line rang twice before it was answered with coughing from the other end. "It's done," he said. "It's done. Now call off the fucking hit. Call it off!" he yelled, wincing lightly. Outside, he could here the sound of a motorcycle, more than likely Greg.

There was a chuckle on the other line. "Clear. Hit's off, and it'll stay like that if you do your fucking job right."

"Burn in hell, you son of a bitch," was all he said before hanging up.

With an infuriated and heartbroken cry, he threw his phone as hard as he could at the wall, watching as the flip phone dented the wall and broke in half. He sat down on the couch, shaking as he full on cried. He could care less about what he face looked like. He already knew it was a hot mess. His entire right side of his face was swollen. His left eye was throbbing, be he could still see pretty well, so it wasn't a big deal. His left cheek was pretty sore, and he was sure his nose was fractured, it hurt.

But nothing at that moment hurt like his heart did. Nothing at all. He himself was emotionally, physically, spiritually, _damaged_. Broken little lion, he was, shattered, _done._


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock was a mess. An absolute mess. Greg scrubbed the blood off of Sherlock's hand while Mycroft gripped onto his baby brother, holding him tight. He was crying along with Sherlock, and that's never happened before. He felt absolutely _horrible_ about the bad break up, seeing as John meant everything to Sherlock. He'd never seen his brother so in love with anyone in his life, and he knew that he wouldn't be getting over this any time soon. Greg had his jaw set as he scrubbed the last bit off blood off of his knuckles. If anything, he was just as upset as the brother's, but even he held even more hatred or John than Mycroft did at this moment. The moment he got the call from an absolutely _destroyed_ Sherlock was the very moment he, figuratively speaking, began to plan the murder of John Watson. He put the bloody flannel down and turned off the water. He dried his hand off, and it gripped at his wrist.

"Come on, little brother," Mycroft murmured tenderly. He guided Sherlock back to their room, Greg in pursuit. "Let's have a quick kip, yes?"

Sherlock simply wiped his eyes and nodded. Mycroft and Greg stripped Sherlock of his stained clothes. They didn't bother putting him on any more, seeing as he just crawled into bed. Greg, bit by bit, moved Mycroft's twin sized bed over to Sherlock's. It blocked of majority of the way into the room, but that would be alright for now. Greg stripped and put on some gym shorts he had over. Mycroft did the same and crawled over his brother. He slipped under the blanket, pressing his back against the wall. Sherlock buried his face in his older brother's chest, fingers combing through his silky dark curls. Greg settled behind him, putting an arm around his waist and nosing the back of his head.

The stress Sherlock was under put him to sleep fairly quick, the gentle fingers through his hair, light circles being rubbed on his hip, and Mycroft's heartbeat, helping to lull him to sleep. Mrs. Holmes came in a few minutes after Sherlock fell asleep. She didn't question the bed being moved, nor the fact that her youngest son was smushed between the two older boys.

"Greg, you got a letter. Don't know who's it from. It doesn't have another name on it." She handed it to Greg, leaning over him to kiss Sherlock's forehead. "My poor boy. I've never seen him love a person like that."

Greg and Mycroft sighed softly. Greg took the envelope and opened it, rolling onto his back. He opened it and took it. He carefully opened it, putting the envelope aside.

 _Greg,_

 _I did it to protect Sherlock. I need him to hate me. I need him to not want me back. My mother had called out a hit on him, you, Mycroft, and their mother. I did what I had to to protect you all, and that meant I needed him out of my life. I knew just a breakup wouldn't cut it. He would still come back. I needed to hurt him emotionally, and God did it break me. I know you all hate me with a burning passion, but I'm asking you to trust me. Meet me at my house in three days. Please. Please don't explain this to Sherlock. Please. I beg of you. It cuts me deep that I had to hurt him like that. Hell, it felt like was cutting out my heart with each hurtful word I said to him. I just...I don't want him-either of you-dead because of me. Tell Mycroft he was right. About everything about me. I'm no good for Sherlock, and this is exactly why. I love Sherlock, and just like him, I don't think I'll ever be okay after this._

Greg scoffed and crumpled the piece of paper a bit. Mycroft looked over his brother's head to look at his boyfriend. Greg nodded towards the door. He rolled out of bed and left the room, Mycroft crawling over Sherlock and joining him. They sat down on the middle step, the blonde gripping the paper tightly.

"What is it, Gregory?" Mycroft asked, laying his head on Greg's shoulder.

He sighed, putting an arm around him and pulling him close. "John...He was forced to do it, Myc." He handed him the paper. He pointed to a sentence. "There was a hit on us, all of us. He destroyed Sherlock to protect him." Mycroft took the paper, skimming over the letter. The older brother looked up, shocked. Greg pressed his lips together and nodded. "I'm gonna meet in three days like he asked. Despite the damaging effect it had on Sherlock...It was all for his well being."

"Did you read the bottom half?" Mycroft asked, pointing to a paragraph close to the end of the paper.

Greg frowned. In fact, he had not.

 _P.S,_

 _There is exactly 200,000 in your bank account to take him and My out shopping and to eat dinner at a nice restaurant._

"How the hell did he get my account number?" Greg mumbled, frowning, but he shrugged when the fact that he was part of a drug cartel set in. He probably had people that could get that information if he wanted it. "Never mind. Let's skip school tomorrow, Myc."

"200,000...That's a lot of money, Gregory. And you know we've got that big test tomorrow in math. You and I both know you can't afford to skip it."

"Alright. We'll go the day after I talk with John."

"That's better, my love. Come on. Let's go back to Sherlock."

"Should it be weird that I'm in the bed with your brother?" Greg asked. "Shouldn't it bother you?"

Mycroft shrugged, standing up. "It should, but it doesn't bother me in the slightest, Gregory. You're sweet and comforting, and you smell nice. Brother needs that right now, and I'm afraid I'm a bit too...ah..."

"Harsh at times?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yeah. I'm too straightforward. There we go, and I want him comforted." He shrugged again. "Do you want me to be bothered that you're in the same bed with me and my brother?"

Greg pressed Mycroft against the wall, tilting his head down to look into his eyes. "Yes, I want it to bother you that I'm sleeping in a bed with someone else, but at the same time, I'm glad you're okay with me in Sherlock's bed." He smiled a bit. "Remember when we were younger? We were ten and he was eight?"

The elder Holmes chuckled. "Yes. I do. You would stay the night and you always slept in the bed with me, and Sherlock would come and get in between us."

"He would be stretched over both of us. He would be supporting himself up on me and propped his feet up on you...It went on until he was fourteen."

"Because that's when we started dating. He stopped getting in our bed, but remember when he fell down the stairs and broke his leg?"

"Clumsy little thing. His feet were not proportionate to his height. He made you sleep in his bed every single night for a month and he would have strop if you said you had to go home." Mycroft smiled, leaning down to kiss the tip of Greg's nose. "I understand."

They went back to the room, Mycroft taking the side against the wall again while Greg settled behind Sherlock. The brunette turned to bury his tear streaked face into Greg's chest, who simply hummed softly, carding his fingers through his hair.

t(-_-t)

Greg stood in front of John's house. He sighed and pushed his bike into the garage, sitting his helmet on a tool cart. The side door had been opened, so he didn't bother knocking. Inside...it was a complete and utter mess. The telly had a hole in the screen. Glass shards littered the sitting room. Bits of frame were strewn everywhere. A cheap wooden chair lay broken in pieces. In a corner was John's broken phone. It smelled heavily of weed and in the middle of the mess was John rocking lightly on the couch. On the coffee table was a layer of thick white dust

"John?" The blonde looked back, and Greg winced. His entire right side of his face was black, blue, and seriously swollen. His left pupil was dialated, yet drooped in a sense of being tired. He pointed to the coffee table. "What is that?"

John pushed out a huff of air and laughed nervously. "I-I-I...Uh. Speed, I think. Dunno. Don't remember. Don't care. Wasn't me. Weed. Don't like addictions. Weed. Pounds of it. Lots of weed. That was two nights ago. I uh. Yeah, I'm still stoned. I haven't slept. I-I've been crying, and I've been breaking things. Sherlock. Need to protect him from my Mum. She found this place. Unwanted party, Speed, sex. Burning the place."

Greg stared at John as he got up and started pacing before he eventually just dropped down and started crying. He knelt down in front of him, lifting up John's face to study it. He wanted to be mad at John, but seeing him in such a depressing state cooled his embers.

"I-I can't believe I did it...I can't believe I just ended it. I-I was just so fucking _rude_ , and I know I destroyed him, and I know he hates me, and I don't know what to _do_ without him! I don't want to _think_ about the suffering I'm putting him through!" Greg couldn't help but pull John into his arms and comfort him the best he could. "Fucking _hate_ it!"

"John, calm down before you stress yourself out." John took deep breaths, nuzzling into Greg's shoulder. "Calm down, and explain to me what the fuck is going on, because I'm supposed to punch the ever living shit out of your or Mycroft."

John looked at Greg and wiped his face on his shirt, wincing. "Mum wanted me back in the fucking cartel, and when I say back, I mean run the entire fucking thing. I refused because I was perfectly content with Sherlock, and I was willing to give it all up. Which is why she put the hit out on all of you because I care about you all. Sherlock would have been the first one with a bullet in his head if I didn't end it for good. And I couldn't let that happen."

Greg sighed and looked away. The sheer amount of emotions in John's eye told him everything he was holding back at that moment. Nothing at all showed the John Watson that originally lived here. It was just a shell of John, and he was hiding behind a case of his emotions.

"I'm going to put bullets in her head. I will put twenty-fucking-five bullets in her goddamn skull."

"Do you really think that's the way to solve your problem?" Greg asked skeptically.

John rolled his eye. "I run the cartel better than she does and once they're under me _and just me_ , I can permanently take the hit off and it will never be there ever again. That's a win-win for me. Trust me. It's the only way."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "You sound irrationally ration, John, and you're higher than a motherfucker."

John shrugged and pulled a blunt from behind his ear. He lit it up and took a long drag before puffing out the smoke. "Punch me," he said. Greg let out a questioning grunt. "Mycroft told you to punch me. Do it. Don't hold back."

"I don't want to fuck your face up even more, dude," he said hesitantly.

"I don't give a fuck. Do it any-OOOF!"

Greg didn't hold back. He knocked John on the ground, the punk drug dealer, sliding back a foot or two from impact. He sat up and shook his head, taking another drag from the blunt that fell from between his fingers. Greg took the blunt and put it out.

"No more drugs, John. Keep your head sharp and stay alive. There may be a small slice of chance of you to get Sherlock back once all this shit is over with you and your mom." He threw the blunt away and turned to leave, leaving John to stagger back to his feet and sit down on the couch. God, he hoped John would fix things.


	13. Chapter 13

His mother had handed him a light machine gun four hours ago. John wasn't like his role one bit. He was herding a group of fifteen junkies that owed his mother money. One was really starting to fall behind the rest of the group. He hit him in the back of the head with the stock of the gun.

"Keep moving!" he yelled in a clipped voice, learned from his father. "Don't stop!" He heard someone hum Journey's _Don't Stop Believing_. "Shut your mouths! Not a sound!"

John kept the group tight and quiet as he lead them into the 'slaughterhouse' his mother kept in Yorkshire. Too damn far from home in his opinion. His mother was waiting for him.

"What took you so long?" she asked him.

John lowered his gun and pointed in the direction he just came from. "Bitch, you just had me walk from London to Yorkshire. That's _two hundred and twenty-fucking-six miles_! Fuck you. How much do these fuckers owe you anyways?" he asked, looking over the group of meth heads. He then took a survey of which part of the cartel she had there. Naturally, the large and scary but incredibly low in rank dealers that pay her for protection.

"Five thousand," she stated. "Total anyways."

John scoffed. "What? Are you high, Mum? Have you snorted meth in the past hour?" he demanded, hard blue eyes staring into equaling menacing darker blue eyes. "Bitch, I could pay off their debts up front. I'm not waistin' nobody over a grand total of five figures from fifteen people." He pulled out his wallet and dropped the money on the floor. "Maybe if you would have listened to Dad, you wouldn't be having none of this shit."

"Watch your mouth, son. I'll put the hit out," she warned, pushing the teenager away from her.

"You know what? You show _me_ some damn respect and maybe I'll watch what comes out of my mouth. I'm running your fucking business _while_ I conduct my own. So you know what? You can suck my cock." John waved for the crowd of junkies to leave. "Debt paid. Get the fuck out of her."

The junkies left in a hurry, John encouraging them to move faster with a few shots toward their feet. John couldn't bite back his tongue now that he'd gotten started. "You've officially ruined my life. I never asked for this shit. I was born into it. I ranked up. I started growing and making my own shit for you to sell while I never saw a single pound for my work. I had that perfect balance between boyfriend and work and you completely threw it off, so don't, _for a single second_ , believe that I will not empty this mag in your pathetic arse. Do _not_ fuck with me."

"You know the business, John!" his mother yelled as he walked away.

"Drop dead!" he called out, dropping the gun at the thresh hold haphazardly. He didn't need this shit.

t(-_-t)

Back in London after a good three hours of travelling, he walked the rest of the way to his abandoned house, fingers twitching lightly. He dragged a large garbage can behind him, sighing softly. He opened the top and left it by the stairs in the garage. He put on a pair of work gloves and began the process of cleaning up the mess he made. He threw away pieces of broken furniture, swept up the glass and debris. He scrubbed blood off the floor from where Sherlock had beat his face in.

It took him four hours to get everything cleared away, and for his home to actually look like his home instead of a disaster area. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He wiped sweat from his forehead. His phone rang, and he lazily turned to look at it. He picked up and looked at it. His heart shattered once again when he read the name on the screen. _Sherlollipop._ He sighed. He let it go to voicemail. He nothing, yet everything, to say to Sherlock. He wanted to tell him he didn't mean a damn word he said four weeks ago. He wanted to tell Sherlock everything. About what happened with his mother, about the money, about how he was a wreck, about all the meth he'd been forced to snort or smoke lately. He absolutely _hated_ how things were right now. His phone vibrated again. He sighed and put it on charge, letting it go to voicemail again. He went to get a beer. He stared at the little baggie of meth. He picked it up. He was one of the top makers of crystal meth in London. This was how he made a living when he first started out on his own. He tossed it back on the counter and twisted off the cap on his beer. He took a long sip when he heard knocking on his door.

John went to the door and opened it. It was his mother and seven of her men and a couple of girls. John had never slammed the door faster .

"John, open the fucking door!" she yelled.

He did. "What the fuck do you want?! This is my sanctuary! This is my place of peace!"

"Come on, son. Don't you want to smoke a little with your Mum like you used to?"

"Like I'd want to smoke that lame shit you make. There's a reason your meth is number twenty on the street and mine is number three. I'm not up for the side effects."

"Well, let us in, and you'll smoke anyways." She tried to force her way in, but John shoved her back.

"What part of 'this is my place of peace' and 'I'm not up for the side effects' did you not comprehend? Leave. You look like a wreck and I just cleaned up."

"So?"

John closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. _Soon, John, soon. Soon you'll be able to take her down._ He opened his eyes and released his grip on the door frame. "You can go smoke your shitty meth somewhere else. Not here. Not again. Not ever again."

"You'll either smoke with me, or that stupid, pathetic boy you seem so attached to dies, along with his brother, mother, and friend." She held out a pipe.

John glared at her and snatched it from her hand. "Fine. I'll smoke. Don't you dare touch one hair on his head." He let his Mum in, grabbing her by her arm tightly. "And don't you _ever_ call Sherlock stupid and pathetic. You don't know him enough to call him names." He let her go and moved out the way to let her men in.

He slammed the door closed. He went to the kitchen and opened a drawer. He felt under the counter top where he knew he had a half a pound of meth hidden. He pocketed weed and took the half pound of drugs to the living room. He dropped it on the coffee table.

"Smoke the good shit," he said as he produced a knife from inside his boot, cutting the package open.

John took a seat in the corner of the couch. He stuck with his weed, taking out his lighter and passing it around. One of the girls, tall, brunette, ( _God, please no_ , he thought to himself), settled in his lap, grinning at him. He sighed. She wasn't pretty. She was one of those frequent users of meth, but John wasn't rude enough to tell her to get off. He needed to be high to survive this. He pocketed his lighter when it got back to him. He blew smoke from his nose. Things were just getting started and he already wanted things to end. He watched the group with lazy eyes as they practically fought over his product. The brunette in his lap moved three times to the package. In the kitchen, he heard his phone ring over the kitchen, playing that stupid ringtone he and Sherlock had made. It made him sigh sadly. John was beatboxing while Sherlock sang horribly.

 _It's Sherlollipop on the phone_

 _Are you gone?_

 _It's Sherlolli on the phone_

 _Are you home?_

 _Come on, lover_

 _Don't mean to hover_

 _Come on, lover_

 _Answer your phone!_

John swatted at the girl in his lap. She slid off, and he went to get his phone. He opened it up, thumb hovering over the answer button. He looked back toward the group, deciding it was better to ignore it. He hit the end button and closed it. He was about to walk away but it rang again. He sighed and hit end again.

He walked back to the living room, stopping at the door when someone knocked on it. He opened it, finding Sherlock standing there, with mixed emotions playing across his face.

"Can't you answer your fucking phone?" he demanded, pushing his way inside.

John's eyes hardened, putting up his bullshit façade. "I told you not to come back."

"Are you smoking methamphetamine?" the brunette asked, sniffing John.

The punk pushed him back. "What the hell do you want?"

The sadness spread across his face. "Greg's in the hospital. Someone tampered with his breaks."


	14. Chapter 14

The façade fell almost instantly. His eyes hardened again. Sherlock studied over him, watching each and every muscle in that short, but compact body tighten dangerously. The taller male instantly took several steps back.

" _Everybody_ _ **out**_ _!"_ John screamed, face and neck red with anger. _"In a fucking line in the driveway! Everybody out right. Fucking. Now!"_

John opened the desk where his keys sat right by the door as everyone quickly exited his house. His mother was the last out of the house.

"Did I mention that I made a little stop by that Gregory's house?" she asked innocently.

Sherlock watched the rage take over John as he the blonde pulled out a very clean Colt Commander. He was done playing games. The blonde picked up his keys, pocketing them, and stalked outside. Sherlock stayed behind in the garage. He'd noticed seven men in John's house when he entered, and he only counted six. Where did the seventh go? He soon found out as he was grabbed from behind. He grunted as he was dragged towards John's mother.

"John!" he gasped out, as the man had a tight grip around his neck.

"Put the gun down, John, or he dies," his mother said, pulling out her knife.

He turned to his mother, gun raised, trigger finger twitching. "Fuck you, you stupid, pathetic waste of a woman. You should have been wasted months ago. I should have cut the head off the snake when the idea first popped in my head."

The woman smirked, stalking towards John. "Son, you didn't have the guts to waste fifteen people. You don't have what it takes to kill me."

John proved otherwise. He wasn't aiming at any part of her body in particular. With an angry scream, he emptied the entire magazine. There were headshots, chest shots, one even got her throat. "What was that, bitch!? I don't have what it takes?" he yelled as he fired the last bullet. "I don't fucking have what it takes to kill you!?"

The man holding Sherlock let go of him instantly, the brunette collapsing as he gasped for much needed air. John approached the limp body on the ground. He angrily kicked it over and over and over before he slipped the gun into his pants in the back. He took his knife out from his boot, and with nothing but pure, unfiltered hatred, he threw the knife into her chest.

"Now, does anyone else want to start with me?" he demanded, locking eyes with every single person. Nobody made a sound, nobody moved. "That what I fucking thought. Clean this mess up, and spread the word _I'm_ in charge now. Am I understood?"

John took a few steps back, taking a few deep breaths. He wasn't really affected by what he'd just done. He never would be. John had finally snapped completely. She had very much worked her way up to a nice diet consisting of bullets. She didn't suffer, which he really didn't care if she did or not. Now, his thoughts turned to Sherlock, seeing as he just witness him overkill his own mother without a single hesitation. He looked at the brunette staring at the dead body on the concrete, at all the blood surrounding it. Sherlock stood.

"Let's go, John," he said, going into the garage. His voice wavered slightly.

John followed Sherlock silently. The brunette held the old, scratched up helmet in his hand. John picked his up. Out of habit, Sherlock threw his leg over the bike as John pushed it out of the garage. He put on his helmet. John did the same, taking out his keys. The bike roared to life. When he felt Sherlock's arms lock around him, he burned rubber as he sped of. They were both tense as John recklessly weaved in between cars as he sped to the hospital. John parked and switched off. He waited for Sherlock to get off before he did. They took their helmets off and silently entered the hospital. Sherlock lead the way to Greg's room, meeting Mycroft half way.

Greg was in shit condition. He'd come to an intersection when his breaks gave way. Got his by a car. He had been taking into surgery immediately. Several ribs were broken, his lung was punctured. There was internal bleeding. He was lucky to be alive. John brushed his fingers over Greg's swollen and bruised face lightly.

"I'm so sorry, Greg. I'm so sorry this happened to you, mate." John began to tear up. "It's done. The shit with my Mum is over." He looked down at his hands, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I'm gonna try to do what you said. Things were bad for the past four weeks. I've been forced to do meth. I'm pretty confident I've smoked a good two pounds of marijuana. Cocaine here and there. I've wasted countless people who owe Mum money. It's all over now."

Sherlock looked over John. "Thought you've been smoking meth..."

"Snorting, mostly. Horrible experience," he said, standing up, helmet still in hand. He was debating whether he should stay, or whether or not he should go.

"How bad?" Sherlock asked.

John knew he wasn't talking about the drug, but the entire four weeks. "Bad. I'm running off no sleep, coffee, and drugs. I haven't got addicted to meth yet, and I don't want to be. The munchies have been a bitch. The killing has been a bitch. The bitching was a bitch. The drug induced sex was a bitch. I've been absolutely miserable...But my misery has kept you from getting killed."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

John sighed. "Mum couldn't control the cartel, and I damn well didn't want to do it with her. So, she threatened me with the only four lives I care about. I didn't want to hurt you, Sherlock. God knows I didn't want to, but it was necessary. I knew I could turn Greg, Mycroft and your Mum against me if I broke your heart like I did. But all this time, I was waiting for the right time to end that stupid little bitch's life. I'm sorry you had to witness murder in cold blood."

Sherlock swallowed, sitting in his older brother's lap. "Yeah-yeah. It...It scared me, John, though I deduced I wasn't in any immediate danger...It still scared me..."

John scuffed at the floor, hands in his pockets. He exhaled sharply. "I don't want you to have to see me like that. Ever."

Sherlock got up. He walked over to John. Hesitantly, he slid his arms around John. The shorter boy stiffened in his arms, looking down. The brunette nosed his neck, arms tightening around him. What was he doing? Was he accepting John back into his pathetic life? His fingers grabbed on to his shirt. John was still tense, but he gradually relaxed into the embrace. He reached back an put an arm around Sherlock's neck.

"You know we need to talk..." Sherlock trailed off, waiting for John to refuse.

The blonde sighed and tightened his arm around his neck. He gave a slight nod, dropping his arm. He turned to look at the elder Holmes. Mycroft nodded once at him, throwing his eyes towards the door and then at the two helmets sitting on the floor side by side. John gave a silent 'come' by nodding towards the door, picking up his helmet. Sherlock picked up his and followed John out. Sherlock and John started out with a large gap between them as the walked, but slowly, bit by bit, they began to gravitate towards one another until they were bumping against each other. It was an easy fall into routine. John walked just a half step in front of Sherlock protectively, while Sherlock fell in step with him. John threw his leg over the bike and backed it out and started up. He put on his helmet while Sherlock got on. He wrapped his arms firmly around John, the blonde reaching back to pat his helmet before they sped off.

"Is there a particular place you want to go to talk about this?" John asked as he pulled up to the stop sign at the exit.

"I...Your family's house...if that's okay."

John nodded, taking a left. He took his time, abiding by all signs and such. Once John got through London, he sped up. Sherlock watched buildings, cars, and trees pass by.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock yelled.

John glanced back at Sherlock. "Sort of like a spare house that basically doesn't exist. There's a dirt road that leads up to it."

About ten minutes later, John suddenly went off-road and jerked to a stop. John took his helmet off and got off. Sherlock was about to get off but the blonde just told him to stay on . John pushed his bike into the woods, Sherlock pressing down against the bike to avoid being hit with limbs. He let his arm dangle off, holding on tightly to his helmet. His long form covered the entire seat, John smiling just a bit as he ducked the last limb and entered a clearing. Sherlock sat up, groaning softly as he got off. John spun his keys around his finger and led the brunette up the stairs to the _very_ large house that was hidden off the side of the road. Sherlock simply stared at the building in front of him. He remembered studying about the plantation houses in the southern part of the United States, and that's what this house reminded him of. Size wise anyways. Sherlock jogged to catch up. He pushed the large oak doors open a little wider. His shoes clicked lightly on marble flooring. John toed his shoes off and sat them aside, Sherlock doing the same. The blonde closed and locked the door behind Sherlock.

John looked back at Sherlock and nodded towards a short hallway. Sherlock followed him into a large sitting room that fit three solid black leather couches set up in half a square around an 84 inch flat screen telly hanging on the wall.

"John..."

"Yeah?"

"How much was the telly?"

John shrugged, sitting down on the couch in front of the telly. "Dunno. About 4,480-"

"That's a lot of telly."

Again, John shrugged as Sherlock sat down beside him, criss crossing his legs. "It's more for decoration than anything..."

There was silence for a moment, John crossing his legs as well. He toyed with a hole in his skinny jeans, poking and prodding at it awkwardly. Neither wanted to speak first about the matter at hand, but they both knew it had to be done. Sherlock skimmed his fingers across the soft leather of the couch. They stayed like that for a while. The brunette was the first to break the silence.

"So about the break up..." he started, looking away. "You didn't...um...mean it?"

John leaned his head back. "Sherlock, I meant the break up, but I didn't _want_ to break up. Mum was threatening to have you killed and I couldn't live with myself if you had ended up dead..."

"So emotionally destroying me was the best way to go about this entire situation?" Sherlock demanded.

"Yes! Either break your heart, or standing at your funeral. Quite frankly, I don't want you dead."

"Couldn't you have just told me what was going on? We wouldn't be in the situation right now, John!"

"I was afraid, Sherlock. Yes. The big bad John Watson was absolutely _terrified_ that his whiny bitch-arse mother would see through everything and kill you, your mother, your brother, and your best friend! I was in absolute _misery_. I haven't slept in nearly four weeks! I've been experiencing the horrible side affects of meth. My nose burns just thinking about all the meth I was forced to snort to keep my mother fucking happy so she wouldn't be so trigger happy! I've killed more people than I can count on my fingers and toes to keep the bitch happy! Let me tell you, I do _not_ get my kicks from killing people and then dumping bodies in the fucking Thames river! I don't enjoy executions! A motherfucking _thank you_ is well fucking deserved!"

John turned away from Sherlock, nuzzling into the corner of the couch. Sherlock stared at John's back. Sherlock stared at John's back, watching those shoulders collapse and start to shake. John was _crying_. The brunette was shocked. Sherlock had no idea John went through so much for them. He felt like a major arsehole at this point. He reached out a shaking hand to touch his back, but as soon as he did, John got up and stormed off, leaving him in silence of the sitting room. There wasn't even an analog clock ticking. No heater running. Nothing. Nothing but silence that brought a sense of dred over Sherlock. He chewed on his bottom lip. God, if he knew what all John was going through, he would have just kept his mouth shut.

When John eventually came back, eyes wet and red. He kept his head turned away from Sherlock, looking off into the kitchen that connected to the sitting room. Sherlock straddled him, John not even giving him the slightest bit of attention. He grabbed the blonde by his jaw and turned his head to look him in the eyes.

"John...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean...I didn't mean...I didn't know." He kissed John's nose.

John just turned his head away again. Sherlock trailed kisses down his jaw and neck. When he didn't receive a response, he continued on, mouthing at the sensitive area behind his ear. The body beneath him shuddered lightly, but still, John didn't give his attention. Sherlock began to kiss and mouth at his clothed chest, rubbing his hands up and down his sides, sliding down to his knees to kiss along the taunt stomach, down to his crotch. John stiffened, suppressing a moan as the brunette began to mouth and play with his cock through his trousers. The tight fabric grew wetter as he basically _drooled_ over his growing erection. John's mind may not want his attention, but his body definitely did. His shifted slightly, spreading his legs a little wider to accommodate the brunette.

Sherlock then stood, placing his knees on either side of John's legs seeing as he had his attention. He grabbed John's jaw again and turned his head to look at him. He slowly pushed himself closer, dragging himself along John throbbing manhood. John took a shuddering breath, staring into endlessly deep, misty blue eyes, lips parted slightly.

"Thank you, John, for protecting me and the few I love. I shouldn't have said that, and I'm sorry. Please forgive my mouth. You know how holey my brain to mouth filter is." Sherlock pulled John forward into a gentle and slow kiss.

John melted almost instantly into the kiss, his hand naturally coming up to tangle into soft dark curls, holding him into the kiss. Sherlock relaxed against John, letting the blonde have the control of the kiss. It intensified ten fold, his mouth relentless against his own, tongue plundering his mouth. The younger teen didn't even try to keep up with that skillful, pierced tongue. Sherlock didn't know how it happened, but he ended up pressed into the leather couch, panting as John had finally allowed him air.

" _Sherlock_ ," John panted. " _I love you_. So much."

Sherlock pulled John down into another heated kiss, this time, Sherlock took over, stealing John's breath once again. "I love you too, John. _Never_ , _ever_ do that to me again."

John nodded repeatedly, leaning down to lick a wet stripe down the side of Sherlock's long, pale neck. "I don't want to ever have to do that again." He nosed him gently, inhaling his sweet scent. "Never, ever."

"Is this us getting back together, John?" Sherlock asked quietly, petting John's hair.

"If you like it to be..."

"Initiating sex after a breaking and confessing feelings and shit? I think I can handle it."

John chuckled, lifting his head to nibble at Sherlock's bottom lip. He dipped his head down to kiss those sharp cheekbones followed by his jawline. He rubbed his thumb across his cheek. He settled between his legs, rolling down against Sherlock's cock. The boy keened and arched his back. He nosed Sherlock's pulse point, parting his lips to suck on the area. Sherlock moaned, bucking up against John lightly.

"God, John, please take me," Sherlock whimpered, closing his eyes.

John sat up, pulling Sherlock up with him. He stood, wrapping Sherlock's arms around his waist. "How do you want me, gorgeous?" he asked as Sherlock jumped and wrapped his legs around John.

A deep blush settled on Sherlock's cheeks, and he turned his head to the side to avoid John's deep blue eyes. He took a shuddering breath before looking back at the blonde. "I want you hard, I want you fast, I want you deep. I want you standing like this, on the couch, on the floor, over a table, in the shower, on the bed. I want to make love, but I also want a nice, rough fuck. I want you now." His blush darkened when John released the sexiest groan he'd ever heard before. The blonde, tightened his arm around Sherlock's waist.

John carried Sherlock up to his bedroom on the second floor, clothes being shed the entire away up. Lips mashed together clumsily, hungrily. John nearly tripped a few times when Sherlock would pull his hair and bite the sensitive area behind his ear. They managed to collapse on the bed. The feel of skin against heated skin turned John on more than anything Sherlock could ever say. Sherlock's long pale legs unwrapped themselves from around his waist, knees brushing against his sides. John's thumbs rubbed at the smaller boy's nipples. He took the right into his mouth, sucking it as he rubbed the other firmly. Sherlock arched into John's mouth, whining softly. His hips lifted up to grind up against the blonde's. He was pushed towards the center of the bed, John pulling away from his body, studying him.

Sherlock was flushed a deep red, chest covered in a light sheen of sweat, nipples red and hard. His cock was fully hard and twitching against his stomach.

"Get on your elbows and knees," John said in a breathless order.

Sherlock rolled over, arse in the air. John's hands roamed across Sherlock's back, massaging tense muscles. He watched him relax into his touch. He brought his head down to kiss along his prominent spine. He would stop every once in a while to suck a love mark onto his pale skin. By the time he reached Sherlock's arse the younger boy was shaking and moaning, and the love marks were a bright red zig zag pattern along his spine. He spread his arse cheeks, thumbing rubbing lightly at his puckered entrance. He then leaned down, running the flat of his tongue across his hole, Sherlock jerking violently at the action.

Sherlock bit his lower lip as he looked back at John. "J-John, that's unsanitary," he keened as the blonde swept his tongue over his hole again.

"I know how clean you keep yourself, Sherlock," John hummed, lightly biting down his Sherlock's left arse cheek. "I wouldn't do this if you weren't clean, darling. Beside, you've recently had a shower before you came to my house, and you are _very_ thorough when you bathe."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John's pierced tongue was _lapping_ at his hole, and oh _god_ was he treating it right. He would push the stud in, Sherlock would gasp as it caught lightly on the rim as it was taken out. He could feel John's saliva drip down his balls as he laved at him. And then his tongue was _inside_ of him, that stud rubbing deliciously against his walls each shift his tongue made. Sherlock rocked back on his tongue, moaning lewdly. John grabbed onto his hips, holding him still. He tongue fucked the brunette relentlessly, the boy crying and keening out beneath him. When Sherlock's legs began to shake, John slipped his tongue out, dragging his tongue across his hole once more. He shifted Sherlock onto his back. John traced the sharp V of Sherlock's hips, smiling softly. Pale skin was heated and flushed red, sensitive to even the lightest of his touches.

"J-Jooohn," Sherlock moaned softly, blue eyes blown with want.

John was taking his time with foreplay. He trailed his hands down his stomach, settling down to kiss, nip, and suck along his happy trail. The blonde smiled as he teased the area. He dipped his tongue into his navel, smirking lightly at the gasp and the feel of hips bucking underneath him.

"Th-that's strangely pleasurable," Sherlock murmured, closing his eyes.

"Erogenous zone," John said softly. "With some people it's highly sensitive, other's, not so much. You're definitely sensitive." He circled his tongue within his navel, Sherlock keening out as if to prove his point.

"My entire body is so sensitive to your touch..."

"Mmm, even better," the punk hummed.

John dragged his tongue up Sherlock's chest. He sat up to rub his nipples with his thumbs, the sensitive buds already hard under his touch. The brunette arched into his touch. He pinched and tugged on his nipples, Sherlock's hands flying up to grip John's shoulders. John chuckled softly, thick hands stroking Sherlock's long neck.

Sherlock was in a mixed state of pure lust and deep contentment as those fingers stroked his neck and powerful hips rolled down to grind against his throbbing cock. He let out a soft whine.

"John, please, fuck me...I need you inside me!"

John sat up, straddling the smaller boy's chest, he leaned over to the nightstand, taking out a bottle of lube. Sherlock couldn't suppress the smirk. John rolled his eyes and slicked up three fingers. "Do not judge me," he said with a soft smile as he settled between Sherlock's legs, spreading them wide to reveal his still wet hole. He slipped in one finger, smirking at the little noise the brunette released. He worked it in nice and slowly, drawing out little gasps and whines. A second was added when there was no more resistance with the first. Sherlock mewled and lifted his hips up to meet each thrust of his fingers. John was slowly taking Sherlock apart, watching as he whined and pleaded desperately for John to kindly _hurry the fuck up_. The third finger took him off guard, pushed in quick, his fingers constantly adjusting their angle until they brushed his prostate, Sherlock gasping and arching off the bed.

"Bingo! There we are!" John grinned, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves again and again.

Sherlock clawed at John's back, a heavy stream of profanity flowing from his lips. When the brunette, tightened around his fingers, he squeezed the base of his cock firmly and slid his fingers out. His nails were dug into his back, arms locked around him. He wormed his way out of the death grip and reached for the lube. He squeezed a generous amount of the gel in his hand. He thoroughly coated his cock. Excess he smeared at Sherlock's exposed hole. John lined up, easing his way inside his love. Sherlock tensed around him, John instantly stopping to massage his hips and coax him to relax. Once that lithe body relaxed, he continued to ease in, continuously massaging his sharp hips to keep him relaxed. Once fully sheathed in Sherlock's tight heat, he let out a huff of air.

"Christ, you're tight, Sherlock," he moaned softly.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, rocking his hips just slightly to accommodate himself. John let him move at his own pace briefly before pinning those sharp hips down on the bed. "I think I can knock out a few of those things on that list of things you want," he murmured, leaning down to kiss him gently. His hands slid up to Sherlock's shoulders then down into his hands, tangling their fingers together as he brought them over the brunette's head.

Sherlock hummed softly into the kiss, turning his head slightly to speak, just slightly breathless. "Knock 'em out real good, John," he chuckled, wrapping his legs around John loosely..

A peck to Sherlock's lips. "Oh, I will, darling."

Sherlock shivered. He'd missed being called darling. It was so sweet coming from the drug dealer's lips. He didn't realize just how addicted to John he'd become until he was gone. He mewled as John pulled out and gently thrust back in. He lifted his hips slightly on each inward roll of his hips. He made little noises and gasps and small please that made John hum and caressed the long, pale body beneath him. The punk was constantly touching him, fingers brushing along his thighs, down his stomach, across his chest, down his neck. His hands slid back down to his thighs, lifting his legs up onto his shoulders. He leaned forward, tangling their fingers together again, using one hand to brace himself on the bed. Sherlock squeezed his hand and gave a slight nod. He held his breath as John slid out to where on the head was still inside, and then he stroked- _deep-_ back inside.

 _"Bloody hell!"_ Sherlock exclaimed, nails biting into John's shoulder. "Oh, God, _yes_ , like that!"

John let out a huff of air, sound a mix between a moan and a chuckle. The blonde buried his face into Sherlock's neck. The brunette could just see over John's shoulder, could watch as his back concaved with each pull out and convexed with each stroke in. It was mind-blowingly arousing to see those powerful hips move so gracefully. The hand in his tightened and he squeezed back. Sherlock was loving the long, slow strokes John was doing. He was showering kisses all over his neck and the top of his chest, back behind his ears, and Sherlock was loving every second of it, John showering him in love.

"God, it seems like I feel you in my _stomach_ , John," Sherlock moaned, tilting his head back for the punk. "It's bloody _amazing!"_

John exhaled sharply, leaning down to give the boy beneath him a good snog, the hand untangling from Sherlock's and into his thick, curly dark hair. He tugged just ever so slightly, changing the angle of Sherlock's head. His pierced tongue skillfully parted those plush, pink lips and entered his mouth, circling around his tongue, drawing it into his mouth, sucking on it. Sherlock gasped and moaned, grasping at the back of John's head. He gripped the short hair at the base of his neck and pulled, causing John to moan and snap his hips forward, initiating a new tempo and a new rhythm. Sherlock's mouth, went slack, hips studdering to stop as all 8 1/4 inches was suddenly being thrust hard, deep, and fast into his small body. John was now biting and pulling at the skin on his shoulder, the pain mixing with pleasure to create a wonderful, addicting feeling. John's back arched as the brunette desperately clawed at his back, hands shaking as he tried to get a good grip on his sweat slick skin.

"Christ, Sherlock!" John cried out, back concaving as sweat touched a few open scratches.

"S-sorry!" the brunette gasped as John shifted and changed his angle just slightly and _oh, sweet motherfucking Jesus,_ he was hitting home. He let out a string of profanity. John paused for a moment, gasping, panting. Sherlock whined, wondering why he stopped. He didn't realize he had tensed and tightened around him until he found himself sinking more into the mattress. He could feel John's thick cock throb and twitch inside him. "J- _Joooohn_! Please don't stop!"

And just like that, John was fucking him down into the mattress and _fuck_ did it feel amazing! Sherlock could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, could feel the coil tighten and tighten. John was playing his body in all the right way, thumbs rubbing at his nipples, sending volts of pleasure straight down to his cock, finger dipping into his sensitive navel, down to pinch and squeeze his thighs, and then a hand finally wrapping around his aching, dripping cock, pumping him in time with each one of his powerful thrusts. The stimulation had Sherlock spilling over the edge in minutes, hips jolting as he rode out his most powerful orgasm yet, calling John's name over and over.

Sherlock's hoarse voice calling out John's name was enough to get John over the edge as well, burying his cock deep in his lover as he spilled his seed, the brunette mewling and babbling nonsense as he rolled his head to the side to watch John's sated body collapse on top of his own. John pressed loving kisses all over the tired boy's face. He rolled onto his side, pulling Sherlock's back to his chest. Even though he was considerable smaller in a sense compared to the Sherlock, he was the big spoon to Sherlock's little spoon. He wrapped an arm firmly around him.

"Ngh, you're sweaty and gross feeling," the brunette mumbled, pulling on John's left arm until the muscled limb was under his head.

John chuckled softly and kissed the back of his neck, hand slipping down to push two fingers past Sherlock's raw hole. "And you're full of my cum and feel very well and properly used."

Sherlock hummed. "We'll need to incorporate dirty talk next time..."

"I think I could manage that."

They both let out weak laughs, snuggling up together. They were nearly asleep when foot steps up the stairs and breathless voice made them open their eyes.

"John," the breathless man, long form, delicate hand, _hairdresser_ , said. "You're mother-she's dead."

Sherlock huffed and turned around to look up at John, who _tsk_ ed and pet his head.

"Haven't you hear, Jasper?" John asked, sitting up slowly, still petting the brunette

"Heard what?" Jasper asked, tilting his head as he caught his breath,

 _"I_ killed her..." he said slowly, watching the long body beside him stiffen and shudder.


	15. Chapter 15

Jasper took a few steps back as John swung his legs over the bed. There were long scars down the right side of his body. Sherlock hadn't paid them any attention, but they seem to frighten Jasper. The punk sighed and pulled the blanket over Sherlock. The man seemed very much confused as to what was going on. John went to the dresser and got out a pair acid washed skinny jeans and slipped them on, motioning to the door.

 _"You_ killed her?" Jasper murmured as he and John walked down the clothe-littered stairs.

John casted a look of mock hurt. "Did you put me above it?"

"Yes, actually."

"Ah, now there's your mistake right there. If you had the impression that I loved my Mum, I didn't. I hated her with every fiber in my body. She's the one who put me in the hospital. Hell, he just put my boyfriend's only friend in the hospital. I had had enough of her shit. Emptied a clip in her sorry arse. Nobody fucks with John _Motherfucking_ Watson. Not even family."

Jasper swallowed. "I'll keep that in mind. There's something you should know, John...There's about three hundred people on your front lawn."

John clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "Great. Three hundred people know where this house is. Thank you, Jasper, so very much. If I so much as receive a visitor about drugs, it's going to be your dick."

"Gotcha. Ringing loud and clear."

John straightened up and took another deep breath as he crossed the sitting room to the front door. And he be damned if Jasper wasn't exaggerating. The entire front yard was filled with nervous people, probably who knew they weren't supposed to be there. As he looked around, he spotted a familiar face-Mycroft, who shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. John went down to get him, bringing him back up onto the porch with him.

"Where's Sherlock?" he asked nervously.

"He's asleep. We-uh-we got everything sorted out."

"Good, good-wait."

John gave him instruction on how to get to his bedroom and sent him off. He looked back a the crowd. He cleared his throat. "First off: every single one of you know good and _damn_ well you're not supposed to be here." There were several nods. "But also, I do realize there is a big situation here. Mum is dead, Dad is dead, I am the only one still capable of running the cartel. I suppose we'll have a pow wow session and speak about the most recent murder." A hand was raised and John nodded at it.

"Who killed her? Do you know?"

John nodded. "I know him like the back of my hand. It was me. I shot her." Another hand, another nod.

"Why? I thought you better than to kill family."

John laughed bitterly. _"Never_ hold me higher than to kill family. And the reason why is that I was simply tired of her bullshit. Did she ever pay her suppliers back? No. I had to pay them. From my own personal stack of cash. I was tired of having to give my hard earned money to keep others from taking a shot at her pathetic arse. She put me in the hospital. She sent someone to cut my breaks. Near death is not fun and on top of that, she put my love at risk." John shook his head. "A big _NO_. You guys remember the black eye and swollen face couple weeks ago?" Nods. "It was her fault-she didn't do it. Sherlock did. She made me absolutely miserable. She put a hit on Sherlock, his brother, his mother, and best friend. I don't _like_ killing people, I don't particularly _enjoy_ the effects of meth. Blackmailing me is not the way to do things. If I have to, I will find you, and I will kill you. Today, I find out that she personally cut the breaks on my best friend's bike, and he's in critical right now. I've had enough of her shit and I shot her. End of story."

"So what are we going to do about the drugs?" someone asked.

John clapped his hands together. "This is what we're going to do: we're cutting out the middle man. That means more money in your pockets."

"How?"

"Ah, and that is where business comes in, mate. You see, when you cut out the middle man," John explained, "who do you have to pay? No one. Do you see how this works? Mum-well _I_ was constantly losing the money I gained by making my own product. And you guys see the success I have compared to Mum-mainly because I listened to Dad and just tweaked things a bit- but beside the point."

A hand on his back made him turn around. It was a tired and irritable Sherlock Holmes, and John put his arm around him as he rested his head on his shoulder. The boy was only in a t-shirt that just barely went below his crotch. Mycroft was at his side. "How much longer?" he whined, John rolled his eyes and he continued on.

"Since there is a shift in power and I have to pay off the last supplier Mum had, I want all drugs off the street." There were several gasps and the people began to murmur. John let out a loud whistle to catch their attention again. "It's all temporary though. It should last no longer than a month while I get things settle, and we can begin production of our _own_ drugs. Tell me. What are the two most popular drugs on the street?"

"Meth, cocaine, weed..."

John nodded. "Then that's what we'll sell. All this other stuff that's not really selling that well. We scrap it. If it's not making us much money, why do we still sell it?" He nodded a bit at his question, watching as people processed his speech.

Sherlock looked up at John. "Did you take business and speech before you dropped out of school?"

Sherlock tilted his head downward a bit. "No. I told you when we first started talking. I'm self educated. I taught myself through books. I though business would be a smart choice in this line of work." He shrugged a bit. He turned back towards Jasper. "Hey, Jazz. Get them gone. Make it clear that no one comes back here. For now on, stuff like this should be handled else were. Find a place for that to happen. Not here, not at the other houses, not at mine, and if you're unsure, don't pick it."

"Loud and clear," Jasper said, walking down the steps, John giving his head a playful push on his way down.

John stayed, making sure that no one was left behind. Once everyone was gone, he lead Sherlock and Mycroft back into the house. John sat down in the sitting room on the sofa directly across from the large telly. Sherlock proceeded to take his place in the punk's lap, curling against him in such a way that it made him seem so small, infant-like. Mycroft sat on the sofa to the right of the telly.

"How's Greg doing?" John asked.

Mycroft grimaced and looked down. "He's doing. That's about it. He hasn't improved any but he hasn't got any worse yet. He's just...just..." He sighed. Sherlock got up and went to curl himself in his older brother's lap, nuzzling him. "The doctor won't let me come back. He says 'It's for the sake of your sanity' or some shit like that. I don't like it. What if-what if-"

Sherlock shushed him with a tight hug. "He'll pull through, My."

"I hope so..."

John turned his head away from the brotherly affection, wrinkling his nose a bit. Sherlock eventually came back to him after consoling his older brother. John rubbed the boy's thigh, slightly shocked when he slid his hand up further to find he had on no pants.

"Sherlock Holmes, were just standing in front of a crowd of three hundred people with no pants on?" John asked.

"Don't be silly. Of course I did."

"Of course..."

John continued to touch the sensitive skin, rubbing gently. Sherlock shuddered in his lap under his gentle and caring touch. Mycroft watched John, watched him nuzzle Sherlock's head, eyes closed as those thick fingers caressed skin. It was such a simple gesture, but the older Holmes could see the pure love John held for Sherlock. He thought he could never forgive John for tearing Sherlock apart like he did, even if it was for his own good, but at this moment, he realized he could forgive him. They nuzzled each other, eyes closed, so lost in the moment. It was when John's head started creeping further up underneath the shirt did Mycroft remind them of his presence by clearing his throat.

Sherlock mewled softly, trying to spread his legs without his older brother seeing his situation. John moved down to allow the long body to stretch and curl up slightly, his back to Mycroft. John pet Sherlock's chest, hand slowly stroking lower and lower. Mycroft wasn't stupid, and he stood.

"Do you mind if I poke my nose around?" he asked.

"Not at all. So long as you don't take or misplace anything," John hummed, eyes locked on the area he was petting with a soft smile.

Mycroft quickly headed off to roam to leave his brother and John alone. The blonde lifted the shirt Sherlock was wearing and brushed his fingers over the head. His lips parted slightly as the body shuddered and mewled.

Sherlock wet his lips before looking up at John. "You still owe me sex on the couch, standing, over a table..."

John hummed, shifting so he was hovering over Sherlock, his lower body grinding methodically over the brunette's rapidly hardening cock. "Oh, God, I think I can handle that."

"I fucking hope so," Sherlock murmured, wrenching John down for a heated kiss.

t(-_-t)

"Come on, up you go, my dirty boy," John murmured as he lifted Sherlock's limp body.

The boy was thoroughly sated, the look of pure, absolute bliss still settled deep on his sharp features. John carefully wrapped his legs around his waist, letting his head loll against his shoulder. Mycroft watched the great and utter care John took of his little brother. The elder brother couldn't help but stare at John's...size. Even flaccid he was still pretty large.

"What's you're color, darling?" John asked as he carried him upstairs, Mycroft not that far behind.

 _"Green, green, green, green!"_ Sherlock murmured breathlessly, nuzzling into John's neck.

John chuckled. "Let's get you into a hot bath. Relax those muscles. You took my dick like a champ, baby."

Sherlock shuddered as John sat him on the toilet to run hot water in the tub. He plugged it up and even added some vanilla scented bubble bath. Once it was filled enough with water, he turned it off and stepped in. Mycroft helped John settled Sherlock in the bath, the small brunette nuzzling right up to John. The elder Holmes knelt on the floor, finding a comforting distraction in bathing his tired, well fucked little brother. John's hands countered Mycroft's, rubbing and massaging tensed muscles before a soapy flannel was ran up and down, up and down, over and over again until it was a light shade of red. Sherlock's hair was washed last. John held the brunette up as the boy began to drift off to sleep. He couldn't blame him. The water was hot, John's hands were kneading tired muscles. He was in heaven.

John rolled his shoulders, slipping a bit further under the water while keeping Sherlock head up. While true that a good portion of his stress melted off when he and Sherlock made up and got back together, another smaller portion during the wild run of make up sex, and now the rest of it with the hot bath. Mycroft being the protective brother he is, lifted Sherlock's limp body higher against John and tapped the blonde's head when he too started to doze off.

John shook his head and blinked, carefully sitting up. He got Sherlock out and wrapped in an over sized fluffy towel. He pulled the plug as Mycroft carefully supported all of his baby brother's weight. The punk got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist.

"Here. Lemme get 'im." He scooped him up, Sherlock muttering incoherently. John carried him back to his bedroom, pulling back the sheets after drying him off completely. He settled him down, covering him up. He yawned and dried himself off thoroughly. He climbed in with Sherlock, looking over at Mycroft. "Come on...It's late. I don't bit...Hard.." He smiled at the exasperated roll of Mycroft's eyes. "I should have gotten Jasper to take you back home..." he murmured as he pulled Sherlock closer to him as he made room in the king sized bed for the elder Holmes.

Mycroft sighed, taking off his shoes and setting them at the foot of the bed. He shrugged out of his coat and slid underneath the cover, keeping some distance between him and the two snuggled together. He wasn't going to be the victim of being trapped underneath Sherlock for once...

t(-_-t)

Mycroft, Sherlock, and John were able to visit Greg after school, they were greeted with a pleasant surprise.

Greg was awake, and _God_ was he just like John. He was absolutely the grumpiest and unreasonable person in the hospital, mainly because he still didn't comprehend why the three of them couldn't have visited every day. According to the doctor, the teenager's left hook was no joking matter. The internal bleeding was a big factor with keeping the agitated teen in the hospital. He'd already ripped a few sets of stiches. He was relatively tense until he saw his boyfriend and two best friends. Mycroft smiled and climbed into the bed with him, settling carefully against him. He reached up to lightly touch his busted lips with his thumb, Greg parting his lips and taking his thumb into his mouth. He bit down and the elder Holmes smiled, curling himself against him.

"Greg," Sherlock said excitedly, climbing on the bed as well and sitting down on Greg's ankles. "It's...fixed...more or less," Sherlock said, drumming his fingers against his leg. "It's fixed. And there was lots of hard sex. I still can't properly _feel_ my legs. It's wonderful!"

Greg rolled his eyes but smiled. "Good! I'm not gonna miss you kneeing my dick at night." He flexed his foot. "Get the hell off my feet, now."

Sherlock didn't bother to budge, looking at his best friend with a wide smile. "Oh, by the way, happy to see you're awake."

"So all of the shit with your Mum is over with?" Greg asked, tilting his head.

Both Sherlock and John visibly winced, but John nodded.

"It's over with. Won't be having any problems from her anymore."

"What happened?"

John sat down beside him and sighed. "Shot her."

"More time than what was actually necessary, might I add," Sherlock piped in, John shooting him a glare. "But it was well fucking deserved."

"She put ya in here, Greg. I just got tired of her shit and emptied a whole clip. Then threw my knife into her chest. Brutal over kill."

Greg raised his eyebrows, shocked at the news. "So _you_ killed your own _Mum_?"

"Don't put me above killing family members. Like I said when I started school here, I was raised to kill those who piss me off."

"Scott's taken a renewed interest in Sherlock," Greg and Mycroft said casually.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Scott is by inferior to me now, the little shit. Word gotten around that you had dropped out of school, John, so he has but been persistent in-dare I say it?- _asking me out_. He still pushes me around 'n stuff, but he calls it flirting."

"Hm. Looks like I'll be popping in tomorrow for a little chat with Scott again. I think I might bring out one of my shiny new toys. I've got a new hunting knife I've been wanting to pull out for a week or so. A jealous John Watson is not a good John Watson."

"Then I supposed we shall take that shiny new toy away?" Mycroft suggested with a raise of a brow.

"Mm, not necessary. It would be a too quick death. The knife is very sharp. A sharp knife is a sign of weakness. A dull knife is a sign of pure, unfiltered hatred," John said, rubbing his growing stubble.

They chuckled, Sherlock getting up to sit in John's lap. He pulled his feet up and crossed his legs, John's arms locking firmly around him. Mycroft looked up at Greg and pointed at the two in the chair.

"When you're able to move around and shit, I need to be thoroughly fucked like Sherlock was yesterday."

"Poor baby was so tired that he fell asleep in the tub almost immediately."

Greg nodded once. "I'll keep that in mind."

John laughed and squeezed the boy in his arms tighter. For hours the four just merely talked, the brothers and Greg assuming with as many days of school they'd missed, they'd certainly be staying back a grade, which, neither really cared. Greg and Mycroft were in their last year of school, Sherlock in his eleventh. They weren't really concerned too much. At least now, Greg would have both Holmes brothers to help with his work.

Greg stroked his fingers through Mycroft's hair. "I think you boys need to go home. Mrs. Holmes visited and she was worried because she didn't know where her boys had gone off to. Neither of your have your phones, d'ya now?"

Sherlock frowned and dug through his pockets. John frowned as well. "Bitch, I know you have your phone, because you called me standing outside my door."

Sherlock continued to pat himself down. "Well, it's not in my pockets."

Mycroft shook his head. "I don't have mine..."

"Mine is on the counter over there. Shattered to hell, but I think it still works."

Sherlock reached over and picked up Greg's destroyed phone. He unlocked it and dialed his Mum's number, putting it on speaker phone. It was answered on the third ring.

"Hello~?"

That voice was definitely not Mrs. Holmes' voice. John stiffened, snatching the phone away from Sherlock. The brunette got up quickly and sat down on the bed as the blonde stood up, lip curled in a snarl.

"Knew I was forgetting another low-life," John snarled, grip on the phone tight. "Jeremy, leave her be."

A dark chuckle. "But John, my boy. Killing is thrilling, wouldn't you say so?"

"I will burn you alive," John hissed. "I'll make you suffer if you harm her."

"So I've taken liberty of dulling that old knife that was in your Mum's chest. It's still stained with blood and everything."

John clenched his fist. In the background, there were two distinct female voices. Both brothers sat up, alarmed. "That's Mrs. Hudson!"

"The landlady?"

They nodded. John bit his bottom lip to repress the growl. He loved the landlady. She was more than a little nice to him, and he very much appreciated her.

"Listen very carefully to me, Jeremy. I will cut you, and then I will pour alcohol on you, and then I'm going to watch you burn alive, you bastard." With that, he hung up, threw the phone down, picked up his helmet, and stormed out of the room.

The boys shivered as they watched John. Sherlock bit his lip and curled up on Greg's other side. Dammit, there he goes again...

t(-_-t)

John was going dangerously fast, faster than he normally went. He was pushing the bike to it's limits as he sped down from the hospital. He let off the gas and coasted up to the front door. He switch off and threw his helmet down. He pushed open the door, drawing his knife from his boot. He quietly closed the door, spinning his knife around his hand as he slowly made he way up stairs to the Holmes' flat. There was a thick, metallic smell that John recognized all too quickly. He stayed low, trying to gather as much detail about what was going on upstairs before made his presence on the landing known. When he looked in, there was a rather large pool of blood, and this almost made John growl, but then Mrs. Holmes' and Mrs. Hudson's voice flitted down towards him.

He stepped in, his boots making a soft clunk on the wooden floor. A dark haired man, tall, sat on the floor, leg extended, a kitchen knife buried in his leg. His face was curled into a pained grimace. He walked into the living room. He'd tried to take a stab at Mrs. Hudson's arm. He'd clearly missed the stab but did cut deep into her arm. John rushed to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, using his knife to cut his own pants into a few strips. He tied it tight around her arm.

"I was fucking stabbed at! No I'm not bloody okay!"

John let out a low whistle. Mrs. Hudson had never cursed, and the blonde breathed out a breathless chuckle. He looked back at Jeremy. "Wow, you've been bleeding slowly for a while. How much blood do you have left? Do you know?" The answering growl made him laugh. Jeremy may have been weak, but he picked up the old hunting knife John had. He threw it with enough force that it did manage to dig in to his back as he tended to Mrs. Hudson. John gritted his teeth to prevent the girliest noise that threatened to escape, instead he growled, grip on the landlady's arm tight enough to make her wince. "Grab it!" he growled. "Get it out!"

Both women were hesitant, both sick at the mere though. John was merely agitated. "Get it the fuck out! It is, by no means, a clean knife. It's been in a dead body in the river for two days!" That seemed to really motive Mrs. Holmes because she quickly grabbed it and pulled it out, dropping it instantly. He grunted as it was pulled out. "Peroxide, please, if you will."

"Are _you_ okay-"

"I'm bloody fine! I've been stabbed several times. Just give me the damn peroxide!"

Mrs. Holmes got up and went to the bathroom. She was frowning down at him, but John didn't care or notice. He soaked a strip of denim with Peroxide and poured some on the cut Mrs. Hudson had. He _tsk_ ed as he watched it foam up. He wrapped the Peroxide soaked strip around the wound. .

John took out his phone and dialed for the police. It was answered immediately. "Yes, there's been a break-in at 221B Baker Street. The landlady was shot in the arm-the burg-he's hardly that. He was stabbed and is currently dying."

"If I could get up, I'd skin your arse alive," Jeremy growled.

"Ma'am, don't worry about the little things. Just send an ambulance and someone to clean up all this blood-the name? John Watson-yes, that John Watson. No, no. He's all taken care of," he said, pulling out the knife in Jeremy's leg, whistling at just how deep it went. He hung up the phone, and then turned his attention Mrs. Holmes. He checked her over. She had nothing but a few scratches and bruises. "Do you, by any chance, have any alcohol left? Preferable rubbing and a bottle of scotch."

John turned to Jeremy, putting the knife back in place, tsking. He picked up his new hunting knife and made a quick, hard stab into his shoulder, Jeremy crying out and weakly trying to make a grab for his neck. Mrs. Holmes came back with the two bottle of alcohol. John twisted the cap off and passed the bottle of scotch to Mrs. Hudson.

"Take a drink of this. Numbs the pain."

Mrs. Hudson tutted and scolded him as he shrugged and took a sip. He opened up the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "I won't get the pleasure of hearing you scream when I burn you, so I suppose this'll have to do," he hummed dumping the bottle over both knife wounds. John's hand was stained red from the mix of blood as he took another sip.

The sound of Jeremy's screams were satisfying enough. The police arrived in five minutes, John casually sipping at the bottle of scotch while the went to Mrs. Hudson to tend to her and then Jeremy. John took his knife out of his shoulder and went into the kitchen, apologizing as he had tracked blood into the kitchen. John's phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket again and answered.

"Hello?"

"Are they okay?" came three worried voice.

"Uh-huh. They're fine. Mrs. Hudson got cut, but it's just a scratch, really. It could have been much worse. Mrs. Holmes has got some scratches and bruises. One of them stabbed Jeremy pretty good. He's not gonna make it. Severed a major artery in his leg. As soon as the medics pull that knife out, he's going to bleed out. Looks like they got rookies on the team right now. I'll handle him later. The flat is unlivable. He probably has maybe half a pint of blood left."

"Who was Jeremy?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "He was obsessed with Mum, and she used him to her advantage. Poor bastard was too blind to see-OW!"

Mrs. Holmes had hiked up his shirt in the back to pour Peroxide down his back. He gripped the edge of the counter and released a sharp breath.

"Oh, man up, John. It's just H2 O2."

"Oi, I wasn't expecting it! Though, I am sorry for swearing at you, Mrs. Holmes."

"I'll keep it in mind the next time you want to sleep over, John," she said, taking the bottle back to the bathroom.z

"Are you hurt?"

"No, my name is John. Nice to meet you."

John could practically _hear_ the eye roll. "Funny. Can you pleeeaaasseee come back as soon as possible."

"Yep, be there in twenty." With that he snapped his phone shut and pocketed it, going back into the living room.

His newer knife had been left behind, as well as the old one. He cleaned his knife, putting it back in it's sheath and sliding it back into his boot. The other, he twirled around. His mum had bought him the knife when he was much younger. He didn't need it, just like he didn't need her. He pocketed the knife and left the chaotic scene, avoiding-

Sherlock woke to John rolling on top of him, virtually crushing him underneath his dead weight. He gasped and gave futile attempts to push the punk off his chest. "John-! _Jooohhhnn_! Fuck, get off me!" With one more attempt, he managed to get John up-more or less. The brute of a boy just rolled onto his back. The brunette sat up, straddling John's arse. It was still dark outside, so Sherlock couldn't see. The dream seemed all too real to him, too vivid. He didn't like it. He closed his eyes and let his hands slide up and down John's strong back. His finger tips caressed many scars, none that were new. He let out a breath he didn't realized he was holding.

He also didn't realize that John was lifting him up with ease. It took Sherlock a moment to figure out that his boyfriend was stretching much like a dog would. He flattened himself and yawned.

"Bad dream?" John murmured sleepily, running his fingers through his hair.

Sherlock laid down on John's back, nosing his shoulder. "Not bad, just...strange. You were stabbed...in the back...by some guy named Jeremy."

John scoffed. "Mum slit Jeremy's throat years ago-wait. Jeremy?" All sleepiness was gone from his voice. "There's no way you dreamed of _Jeremy_. He's been dead for _seven years_. Mum killed him over some shit meth that he sold her. _What the hell?_ "

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm just going to delete the dream. It's not important to me...now that I feel you haven't been stabbed in the back-literally- recently."

John slipped out from underneath Sherlock, throwing his legs over the bed. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the dark. He padded over to the light switch, tripping over his boot but not falling. He flipped the light on. Sherlock's mouth dropped when he saw his naked form. Tanned skin was covered in bite marks. Some were done harder than other, bruises that were darker than others.

 _"Oh..."_

John frowned as he watched Sherlock's eyes dart this way and that over his body. John walked over to the mirror and gasped. _"Jesus, Sherlock!_ I thought I was feeling you bite me in my sleep!"

Sherlock shuddered, crawling to the end of the bed as John was about to climb back in. The brunette stopped him, pressing his tongue against a bruised bitemark on John's left hip and dragged his tongue along every new bruised he created. John tasted salty, but it wasn't at all unpleasant. He could taste a bit of himself as well. He went back down, licking a slow, wonderful trail up John's abdomen, all the way up to his neck.

John shuddered as that sharp tongue worked its way up his body. _"Sheeeerloock_." It was a warning tone, a low growl. He was aroused and Sherlock bloody well knew it. "Too early, baby...Much too early..."

"Then what are you doing to do about this then, hm?" Sherlock reached down to stroke John's rapidly filling prick. "Will you let me ride you-"

"Oh, please, God no." Both teens jumped at the new voice that seemed to have came out of no where. A look to the other side of the bed and Mycroft's head popped up, dark eyes still half closed. "Could you not bone at three in the morning. Sherlock, you're such a horndog. Please go back to bed, and refrain from fucking."

Sherlock flushed a deep shade of red, while John, on the other hand, went over to where Mycroft had taken to the floor. He stepped over him and squatted down, not at all ashamed of his erection hanging between his legs.

"Lookie here, I feel like an arse for mentioning this, but we have cuddled through you and Greg fucking for a few nights straight. _I_ don't want to 'ear, My. I'm going to fuck your baby brother until he can't even _crawl._ " Mycroft huffed, cheeks turning red. He plopped back down, pulling up the blanket he'd managed to fine when he was kicked out of the bed.

"Well, at least kill the light then. Fuck away, mad rabbits."

John snorted, Sherlock pulling him into a bruising kiss. He kissed the blonde breathless. John broke for air, grinning. Sherlock grinned back, reading the statement John thought about saying. With little encouragement, Sherlock pulled him back into another bruising kiss. Without breaking it, moaning hungrily into each other's mouths, they managed to back up on the bed, Sherlock's head hitting the pillows. John pushed his head back, exposing that long, slender neck that was already covered in love bites. He found a clear patch of skin and began to suck on the area, straddling Sherlock as they ground against each other. Jesus _fuck_ were they going to scar the older Holmes when they were done.


End file.
